


Angel in the Arsenal

by thatpeculiarone



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dean/Cas Reverse Bang 2018, M/M, Not Between Dean and Castiel, Pre-Season/Series 01, Rape/Non-con Elements, motw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 09:17:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14871012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatpeculiarone/pseuds/thatpeculiarone
Summary: “Sometimes the path that has been laid out before you, doesn’t always mean that it’s the path you are destined to choose.”Dean gets a call from a couple of hunters who need some extra backup on a case. When he meets up with them, Dean learns that these guys have enslaved an angel who helps them out on hunts.Dean is aware that hunters sometimes force vamps and werewolves and the like to help them on hunts, but this is the first time he’s encountered an angel. Dean is pretty indifferent about it, he’s got other things to worry about. Except, he sees first hand the way these hunters treat the angel, Castiel, and the longer the hunt goes on, the more time he spends with the angel. Bottom line: Castiel doesn’t deserve the abuse he’s receiving.As time goes on, Dean discovers he has to come to terms with the feelings he has for Castiel and go against the ideologies of the whole hunter community; which demand that all monsters are evil and should either be enslaved or put down.He has to come to terms with the fact that maybe it's not just monsters who are evil. Sometimes humans are too.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I hope you enjoy my story!
> 
> First, let me say a huge thank you to [oh-cassie!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohcassie)! Her art is absolutely stunning and inspired me to write this beautiful fic. The link to her art masterpost is right here so please go and check it out! ( **[Art Masterpost](https://oh-cassie.tumblr.com/post/174659949455/angel-in-the-arsenal-dcrb-2018-dean-gets-a-call)** )
> 
> Secondly, a massive thank you to my beautiful beta; [Phoenixaeris](http://phoenixaeris.tumblr.com/). She offered to help me out and I am so incredibly lucky that she did because she has been absolutely amazing and so supportive. Her words of encouragement, really made me confident with my writing. Can't wait to work with you on future fics!
> 
> Also finally, thank you to Jojo and Muse for the relentless hard work they put into these challenges. Very thankful we have mods like you!

Unlike most children his age, Dean Winchester grew up never having the innate, preconditioned fear of the dark. Most kids he knew had to sleep with a source of brightness, whether it be a lamp or a night-light. Children’s wild and active imaginations made them believe that monsters lurked within the darkness, either under their beds, in their closets or outside their bedroom windows. It was a belief that parents either shut down or played along with, in the hopes of letting their children know that ‘monsters aren’t real’ or ‘monsters aren’t scary!’. Children would eventually sleep sound at night, knowing they had their parents to protect them, even though they still had this lingering fear about what the darkness held.  
  


Dean on the other hand wasn’t like them. He _did_ believe in monsters, that bit was true. But only because his dad would tell him about them. Some children would be told fairy tales or cute little bedtime stories to soothe them to sleep, Dean was told stories of mythology and lore, about all the different monsters that went bump in the night. He learnt about monsters in excruciating detail: what they looked like, what they ate, who they preyed on, their abilities and how you kill them. Dean grew up not only hearing about them, but seeing them every day with his own eyes. Most adults wouldn’t believe these existed, and if Dean hadn’t encountered so many of them from a young age, he probably wouldn’t either.  
  


Dean and his younger brother grew up in the hunter lifestyle. Their father became a hunter of supernatural beings shortly after their mother was killed by one. He made sure that his sons grew up knowing not only how to protect themselves from monsters, but how to protect others. It was the life Dean lived, and hell, was he good at it.  
  


There were many unwritten rules in the hunter world, small little guidelines on how you were meant to act and talk if you were to call yourself ‘a hunter’. However, if there was a golden rule that all hunters agreed on, it was that all monsters were evil. Dean had never met a hunter who would say otherwise.. If it wasn’t human, they were deemed monsters. Dean grew up believing that whatever you did, you had to kill a monster. No matter what they said, no matter what they claimed to do. These were the words he lived by. He’d faced many monsters in his life, seen the evil, horrific things they had done. He knew without a doubt  that all monsters were bad, that none were redeemable.  
  
  


It wasn’t until one fateful spring in 2003, that the life he once lived, the credence that he was once devoted to, came toppling down on him. It was then that he realised that, it wasn’t just monsters that lurked within the darkness. Sometimes humans could too.

  



	2. One.

What Dean would label as his ‘identity crisis’ began on a Sunday afternoon in March. He had finished a case the previous day in Sheridan, Wyoming. However, instead of spending his night knocking back a couple of beers and maybe scoring a one-night stand, he had spent the night driving to Cincinnati, Ohio, which happened to be a good 1000-mile trip. It was mid-afternoon by the time he arrived in the neighbourhood of Northside and if it wasn’t for the hot sun blaring through the windshield, he would have been struggling to stay awake. He was quick to pull into the parking lot of one of the local dive bars, turning off the car as he sat still for a moment, blinking in an attempt to keep his eyes open. His body was stiff and his back felt like it was practically moulded to the leather behind him. All he wanted to do was find a motel and retire until the morning. Instead he got out of the car, stretching with a groan as some of his muscles moved for the first time in hours. Slamming the driver’s door shut, he proceeded into the building.

 

Having grown up on the road, dive bars were something that Dean had become all but accustomed to. The hunter lifestyle wasn’t one that paid well, so along with credit card scams, Dean had been taught to hustle for an extra bit of cash here and there. Most dive bars were always well equipped with a pool table, along with a bunch of drunk, gullible people who were always up for a bet. Dean usually left every dive bar he entered with a couple of extra twenties safely tucked away in his wallet.

 

Dean nodded to the bartender as he walked inside, pausing to scan the room. He hadn’t gone into many dive bars during the day time. Most of the time you would find a rush of people during the late evening, more specifically on a Saturday night. On a Sunday, especially mid-afternoon, it was hauntingly quiet. There was a small lull of music playing from the speakers and hushed chatter from the few patrons that happened to be there. However, compared to the noise level that Dean was used to from dive bars… the level here was practically non-existent.

 

Nevertheless, the minimal number of people inside allowed Dean to easily spot who he was looking for. The two men sat at a table a few feet from him, chatting animatedly amongst themselves. They each had a pint of beer in front of them, along with a large, greasy share plate of nachos that barely seemed edible. Dean quickly sighed to himself, before forcing a smile as he walked over to the greet him.

 

The taller of the two, a man with grey slicked back hair and an accompanying bald spot, was the first to spot Dean. He rubbed his hands on his jeans and stood up, a large smile on his face.

 

“Dean-o! My goodness you’ve grown.” Dean recognised him as Randall, the man he had spoken to on the phone the previous day.

 

“Randall, good to see you.” Dean greeted politely. Although they must have crossed paths at one point in their lives, especially since Randall happened to know his father, Dean had no memory of ever laying eyes on him.

 

“Thanks for coming man, this is my hunting buddy, Thomas.”

 

Thomas was a shorter man who was a little rounder in the face and waist. He had a dark, bushy beard and thick curly hair. He smiled at Dean in greeting.

 

“Have a seat.” Randall said quickly, indicating to the only empty chair at the table, “Do you want a drink? Or something to eat? Our treat.”

 

“I’d rather just focus on the case,” Dean spoke wearily, “It’s just I’ve been driving all night…”

 

“Don’t worry about it man,” Randall said as Dean propped himself up onto the barstool, “We do appreciate you helping us out here, turns out we got ourselves in a bit of a bind.”

 

“What’s been happening?” Dean asked looking at both of the hunters next to him.

 

Thomas wiped his hands on a napkin and leant over, grabbing a large manila folder out of the backpack next to him.

 

“Three people dead, all from unknown causes. The first of the victims, Sean Preston, was murdered about ten days ago. His wife went downstairs, in the middle of the night, to grab a glass of water. When she came back upstairs, she found her husband’s body mutilated, blood everywhere. The very next night, in a completely different location, she herself was found dead as well.”

 

Dean looked at the reports for both Sean Preston and his wife, Eleanor. The coroner reported that both the bodies had gashes all over the skin, millions of thin white lines which were similar to a cut from a small knife. The organs were liquefied, with a black substance lingering in the body cavity. The coroner said the death was from unknown causes, but suspected some sort of narcotics or poison.

 

“Black substance?” Dean questioned, lingering on that line of the reports “Like… ectoplasm?”

 

“It looked like that,” Randall spoke, “when we visited the coroner, she showed us the samples and it looked pretty damn similar to ectoplasm. It’s why we thought it was a ghost… or a vengeful spirit.”

 

“You thought it was? So I’m guessing you don’t anymore.” Dean looked up from the reports.

 

Both men shook their heads.

 

“There was evidence that made it seem like there wasn’t so that’s why I called you up. We have no idea what it is.” Randall said.

 

Dean looked back down at the documents, reading a bit more.

 

“It seems like a ghost to me but sometimes other monsters can mimic ones we already know. What have you found in the lore?”

 

Dean was still reading so it took him a few moments before the silence hit him. He looked up at them again to see them both exchange a look between each other.

 

“You’ve read up on the lore… haven’t you?” Dean questioned.

 

“Not exactly,” Randall replied, “it’s just… we haven’t needed the lore in a while, so we never take our books with us.”

 

Dean scowled . “Why the hell would you not need your lore books? They’re like a manual.”

 

“Like Randall said, we haven’t needed them in a while. We have our own way of solving the case.”

 

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled loudly..

 

“What could you _possibly_ have that doesn’t require the lore?”

 

The hunters exchanged another look, this time with a small smirk on each of their lips.

 

“Well, let’s just say we have our own personal guardian angel.”

 

 *   *   *

 

The truth wasn’t that far off.

Actually, it was bizarrely only a little different.

The unexpected twist was that it wasn’t that far off from the truth.

Turns out it was just a play on words.

 

Dean had been puzzled at first. Instead of elaborating the hunters finished their lunch and headed back to the motel. Dean followed them, bemused as he tried to piece together their words. Was it a figurine? A picture? Tired from the lack of sleep, it wasn’t until they went back to the duo’s motel room that the  realisation came crashing down on him like a ton of bricks.

 

Immediately upon entering, he spotted a man at the other end of the room. He was curled up on the floor, his back leant up against the wall beneath the window. His legs were tucked up against him and his head was buried into his knees. Dean saw a dark tuft of hair peeking out.  As he opened his mouth to ask the duo what was going on, the man slowly lifted his head.

 

The first thing Dean noticed was the collar. It was hard not to notice, being a large, gold clunky thing that stuck out like a sore thumb. There were sigils eloquently engraved around it. Sigils were used to trap supernatural creatures – Dean most commonly used them for demons, so that he could perform exorcisms that sent them straight back to hell. Looking at the sigils enabled Dean’s mind to catch up with itself and finally the fellow hunters’ words made sense. The person before him wasn’t a demon, or any supernatural creature Dean had ever experienced. This… was an angel.

 

Dean had never met an angel, nor had his father or any other hunter he had met throughout his life. Angels were a rare species, most of them never daring to show themselves on Earth. The most Dean knew about angels was from lore or eyewitness accounts posted on the web. Dean had no idea how to kill one, let alone trap one. God knows how Randall and Thomas had been able to pull it off.

 

Dean looked up from the siliged collar to see the man – no, the _angel_ – staring at him, his head tilted slightly to the side . His eyebrows were furrowed and were glazed with curiosity. He was looking at Dean with an intensity that the hunter had never experienced before. He quickly averted his gaze, looking over at the hunters next to him, waiting for an explanation.

 

Instead of providing him with one, Randall crossed the room, stopping at the angel’s side. He crouched down so that he was level with the creature, a devious smile on his face.

 

“I see you have noticed our guest. Why don’t you be polite and introduce yourself?” Randall spoke, his voice sickly sweet.

 

The angel didn’t respond and instead kept his head down, his gaze lowered. His lips were pushed together in a thin line and his eyes stared at the ground with a fierce determination. The angel was resisting, refusing to speak.

 

Randall didn’t give up though, and ran his fingers through the angel’s hair. He gripped the locks tightly and yanked back, snapping the angel’s head  up. The angel glared at Randall.

 

“I don’t think you heard me correctly. I said, introduce yourself, _pet._ ”

 

The angel continued to glare at Randall, before emitting a small sigh and lowering his gaze to the floor.

 

“Castiel.” He spoke, his voice deeper and rougher than Dean had expected. “My name is Castiel.”

 

“And what are you, Castiel?” Randall asked, standing up.

 

“An angel of the Lord.” The angel replied, anger and frustration laced in his tone.

 

Randall left him alone then, heading back over to Dean, who was still trying to process the situation. Angels were considered monsters, just like demons, vampires and the whole wide spectrum of supernatural beings. Every time they appeared on Earth, havoc and massacres was left in their wake. Dean had read many recounts about the mass destruction and human deaths that were caused by their hands. So he wasn’t that sympathetic to the angel’s current predicament.

 

“So Dean,” Randall said, “what do you think of our Castiel?”

 

Truth was, Dean didn’t know what to think. He had heard of hunters keeping monsters as pets, seen a few in his time on the road. Vampires were most common, but Dean had heard of and seen a few werewolves be kept. Dean never thought about keeping a monster as a pet, for many reasons. However, he knew that they could be useful, and if Randall and Thomas hadn’t needed their lore this whole time, it meant that Castiel was useful too.

 

“What does the collar do?” Dean asked, instead of answering Randall’s question.

 

“Engraved into it is Enochian sigils,” Thomas explained, looking over at the angel, “they are all used to keep him bound. He isn’t able to fly away and he’s powered down, not up to the full skillset as your typical angel. He also he has to follow our commands. He always tries to resist… but it never works out for him.”

 

“No, it sure doesn’t.” Randall chuckled, “we keep him chained up when we’re out, just as a precaution so he doesn’t try escape. Although he can’t fly, doesn’t mean he won’t be able to walk outta here and reveal himself to someone.”

 

Dean looked over and noticed the silver chain attached to the angel’s collar. It was a short chain, tightly tied to the nearby bed frame, keeping the angel a short length away from the bed at all times.

 

“So, why do you need me if you have the angel?” Dean questioned, turning away from him and looking at the two hunters.

 

“Well… usually the angel can tell what monster it is. _Apparently_ this time the monster was ‘too hard to identify’.” Randall trailed off in the end, a venomous tone to his voice.

 

“How about we look into the lore? Do a little more digging?” Dean asked, clapping his hands together.

 

“Sounds like a plan, Dean-o.”

 

 

 

They were quick to dig into the research, all of them sitting around the round wooden table. Several documents were splayed across the table top, along with three beer bottles.. Dean had grabbed a few lore books from the trunk of his car, which the three of them began to read  in the hopes of finding a supernatural creature that fit the kills.

 

“So… you said at first that it thought it was a vengeful spirit,” Dean stated as he looked up from his book, “what made you change your mind? Was it the third victim?”

 

Thomas nodded whilst Dean pulled out the file for Kyle McKinney. Kyle was a homeless man, 60 years old, with no relation to either Eleanor or Sean. They lived on opposite sides of town, and probably wouldn’t have had any interaction.

 

“Why did you think it was a vengeful spirit in the first place? Despite the ectoplasm, of course.”

 

“Well, our angel detected EMF on the first two bodies. Eleanor also spoke of seeing a young girl outside on the street, right before her husband kicked the bucket. So we did some digging and found that they had a daughter. Eight years old when she died. Sean and Eleanor had picked her up from a party, both a bit hammered and sure enough, crashed with a semi. Somehow, they both made it out alive, their daughter did not. We assumed she was the vengeful spirit, somehow awoken and pissed.” Randall finished his explanation by handing Dean another folder.

 

“We did the usual salt and burn.” Thomas elaborated. “Thought the case was solved, until we found out the next morning about Kyle. Put us right back into square one.”

 

Spirits were either attached to a specific location or an object, and most of them weren’t the types to go hitchhiking across town for a kill. The creature in question was unfamiliar to Dean, something he hadn’t experienced before. 

 

They hadn’t found anything by the time they had finished their second beers and the sun outside had fully set. Dean yawned and closed his book, looking over at the other two hunters with weary eyes.

 

“Look guys, I’m beat. This is getting us nowhere at the moment, and I need to book a room before the front closes up. How about I meet you guys here tomorrow morning at say… 9? We can go interview the families and witnesses again, see if we can get more information.”

 

The two other hunters agreed. Dean grabbed his jacket and his keys, along with his  books and was quick to leave. Ten minutes later, he was sprawled out on the crappy motel mattress his body too tired to care about the discomfort as he drifted off to sleep.

 

 

The next morning Dean met up with Thomas and Randall in front of their motel room. He was pleasantly surprised by how well the duo cleaned up, both of them wearing a two-piece suit accompanied by a thin black tie. Dean wore the same, his being a suit he bought from a thrift store about a year ago. He was surprised how well it lasted, having kept it on the road with him for so long. The hunters greeted each other before Randall gave Dean the address of the first family member – Eleanor’s sister. Randall and Thomas left in their pick-up truck, whereas Dean felt more comfortable travelling in his impala.

 

The morning was filled with interviews, all of which gave no new valuable information. Morgan Heller gave the same recount that she had given Thomas and Randall previously; that she had only seen her sister on the day of her death for an hour. She had sat with her as the police interviewed her about Sean’s death and then had driven her to the motel that she was provided. She had been working an overnight shift and didn’t hear about her sister’s death until the morning.

 

The other witnesses didn’t provide much help either. As Kyle had no living family, the only person they could talk to was the couple that discovered his body. Neither of them had seen anything suspicious and both had alibis that corresponded with the approximate time of death. Their recounts left the hunters in a bind, and they all found themselves frustrated as they sat down in a local diner for lunch.

 

“So no one reported smelling sulphur, or feeling cold spots? Nothing suspicious at all?” Dean felt the confusion bubbling inside of him.

 

“That’s what we’ve been saying man. No one can tell us anything, nothing here adds up. I mean… not even Halo back at the hotel can tell us shit, which is pretty fucking unbelievable.” Randall growled.

 

“Speaking of the angel... how did you find him, anyways?”

 

The duo exchanged a look before Thomas decided to speak.

 

“We were hunting a demon case in Idaho a few months ago. He was there too… ‘working the case’ or whatever. We found him a little strange, a bit off. He spoke weirdly, didn’t understand certain references, like he lived under a rock his whole life. At first we thought he was just retarded or something, but the more we looked into it… the more we saw that he seemed… unhuman?”

 

“We dug into the research,” Randall continued, “and found out that his name was an angelic name, meaning ‘angel of Thursday’. Honestly, it was pretty pathetic to be the angel of Thursday… of all days. So we researched more into angels and became pretty damn sure that he was _one_ of _them._ And then it wasn’t long before we were able to get a buddy of ours to get a sigiled collar. He knew some people or whatever, we didn’t ask. Anyways, we then got the angel to meet us one night, with the idea that we had trapped the demon. Instead, we trapped him.”

 

“But why just trap him?” Dean asked. “Why not just kill him?”

 

“Angels are taught to serve,” Randall said, a sly smile on his lips, “they are soldiers and have an infinite supply of knowledge. We thought he would be useful, which he has been occasionally and you know a bit of fun as well. In the end, no harm, no foul, right? He can’t hurt any humans in our custody and we can use him on our cases. You understand, don’t you Dean-o?”

 

Dean locked eyes with the other hunters and nodded before proceeding to drop the conversation and eat his food, while Randall and Thomas discussed the latest football game.. In that moment, he believed the hunters were right. Angels destroyed towns and cities, took many human lives and didn’t have an ounce of empathy. If Randall and Thomas wanted to use the angel, but were able to keep him from harming humans, then so be it.

 

Dean couldn’t have a problem with it, angels were monsters, and monsters were what made the world the crappy place that it was.

 

 

*   *   * 

 

The next two days passed by quickly with no progress on the case whatsoever. Dean and the hunters spent their time between investigating at the police station and researching in the motel room. The lore books and case files were read back to front, the surveillance tapes and crime scene photos were practically ingrained into their brains. Dean could tell Randall and Thomas were becoming frustrated with the lack of movement on the case. Usually simple hunting cases wouldn’t take long, a couple of days, tops. However, this case was going on more than a couple of days, and with a lack of evidence, they were stuck with nowhere to go. There was no monster that completely fit the pattern, and with no connection between the victims, there were no leads to who or when the monster would attack next.

 

The angel had been around for those past two days, sitting against the back wall, silent as a mouse. The hunters had barely interacted with him, mostly pretending that he didn’t exist. There was only one point where Dean saw them interact with him, but it was more like he was a tool rather than a creature. Randall had been struggling to translate an old language in one of Dean’s books and had walked over to Castiel, dumping the heavy book in front of the angel, startling him. He asked Castiel to translate it, in which the angel did reluctantly. Other than that, Dean had forgotten that the angel was there.

 

Thursday morning Dean awoke to the sound of his phone ringing. It turned out it was the local police force calling; another person had been murdered in the area. This time, it was a thirty-year-old woman. Dean was quick to shower and change, before walking next door and knocking on the hunters’ door. Thomas answered, dressed in his FBI attire, which made Dean guess that the police force had called them as well. So he waited patiently as Thomas and Randall made themselves clean, presentable and ready to go to the morgue to investigate the body.

 

Dean was surprised when Randall and Thomas walked out with Castiel in tow, the angel’s collar and chain hidden by a large brown trench coat.

 

“We need him to look at the body.” Thomas explained to Dean as they walked towards their separate cars. “Do you think you could help us sneak him in?”

 

Dean nodded, trying not to scoff. Who did these hunters think he was? _Of course_ he could help them sneak the angel in. This wasn’t amateur hour.

 

The coroner’s office was only about a ten-minute drive from the motel, so it wasn’t long before Dean found himself pulling into the parking lot next to it. He took a moment and waited in the car, watching for the white scratched-up pick up to come up the road. It took only a minute for the other hunters to arrive, pulling up a couple of spaces away from the Impala.

 

“So here’s the plan Dean-o,” Randall said as he walked up to Dean, “you and Tom are going to distract the coroner whilst we sneak in to the examination room. I’ll give you the signal and then you can meet us in there. Sound good to you?”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Dean said “Now are we going to keep chatting or are we going to work the case?”

 

Thomas and Dean entered through the main entrance, flashing their fake badges at several staff until they were let through to the coroner. One of the staff on the floor led them into an office, where a woman in a lab coat sat typing on her computer.

 

“Hi… Doctor Robbins?” Dean asked, causing the woman’s gaze to snap up from her computer. Dean and Thomas flashed their badges again.

 

“Oh hello, sorry.” The woman said, getting up from her chair and holding her hand out to Dean. “Doctor Taylor Robbins.”

 

“Special Agent Page, this is my associate, Special Agent Timothy.” Dean greeted, “we’d like to talk to you about the woman who arrived here this morning?”

 

“Of course, did you want me to take you to see the body?”

 

“We’d like to ask you a couple of questions in here first, if that’s alright with you,” Dean said,  motioning for Doctor Robbins to sit back down.

 

“Of course that’s fine. What would you like to know?”

 

Dean proceeded to ask the coroner a series of questions about the case. He discovered that the woman was a thirty-one-year old lawyer who was murdered outside her apartment building. She had a connection to the current case, having being hired to represent one of the witnesses related to Kyle McKinney’s death. Something about it just didn’t feel right to Dean.

 

As Thomas went outside to ‘make a phone call’, Dean listened as Doctor Robbins described what she found in the body. Just like the other victims, the body was found with the organs liquefied and a black substance, which Doctor Robbins still had to identify. She said that despite getting plenty of samples from the other victims, the black substance was still a mystery. By the time Thomas came back in, Dean had run out of questions he needed to ask the coroner. He locked eyes with the other hunter, whose gaze gave Dean the confirmation that he needed. Doctor Robbins lead both of them out of her office and down the hallway to the examination room.

 

They walked inside and Dean saw no sign of either Randall or the angel. Doctor Robbins took the sheet off the body and Dean took a second to compose himself at the sight. Once the coroner explained everything to them, she gave them a few minutes to examine the body themselves. Before Dean could say anything to Thomas, footsteps echoed on the linoleum floors. Dean looked over to see Randall dragging Castiel out from behind a storage unit. He saw the angel look the body up and down, a small frown on his face as he did so.

 

“Come on, do your thing Halo.” Randall said, shoving him over to the body. The angel stood still for a moment, looking at the messed up figure that laid on the table in front of him. He sniffed the air slightly, squinting.

 

“I detect an electromagnetic force,” The angel stated, “as I did with the previous bodies.”

 

“Yeah, we got that smartass, and it has zero relevance to the case at this point. Now keep digging.” Randall spoke gruffly.

 

Castiel looked over at the hunter with a scowl, “If I try to _dig_ any further, I will be using my grace which you should understand is quite hard to do with this monstrosity on my neck.”

 

Dean stood in a shocked silence. This was the most he had heard the angel talk in their short time of knowing each other, and boy, did he have an _attitude_.

 

“Monstrosity? Funny coming from you.” Thomas replied, a fire in his tone.

 

Randall was glaring at the angel, his hands clenched into fists by his side.

 

“I don’t care if it’s ‘too hard’ for you to use your grace. You don’t call the shots here, which you seem to keep forgetting. Now shut the fuck up with your antics and find us something useful.”

 

The angel’s eyes darkened but with a huff, he focused his attention again on the body. It took a few seconds, but soon a brightness lit up right in front of Dean, making him turn his head away. He turned back, hand shielding his face as he squinted, trying to get a good look of what was in front of him. He was surprised to see that what was once the angel’s eyes, were instead two shining orbs of pale blue light. Dean had noticed that the angel always had blue eyes which were a shade that Dean couldn’t recognise. Of course it wasn’t really the angel who had the blue eyes, but rather the human vessel he used. Dean discovered that like demons, angels needed human vessels in order to communicate with other humans on Earth. However unlike demons, angels had to ask permission to possess someone. This just meant that angels could easily trick humans into being their hosts. Nevertheless, the fact that they had to ask for permission didn’t change Dean’s opinion any less. Taking over another human was just… wrong to Dean. It sickened him.

 

Dean looked away from where the angel’s eyes once were, the blue light burning his eyes like the sun. He instead looked down at the angel's hand which was slowly hovering above the body, spraying a soft white light onto it, like he had a torch in the palm of his hand. The angel’s fingers began to shake and in return, so did the floor. It started off as soft vibrations which slowly became more drastic and violent. Dean noticed the Enochian sigils on the angel’s collar; he noticed the way they began to glow a bright yellow, almost as if they were threatening to burst. He knew something was wrong, and that the angel needed to stop.

 

“Stop!” Dean yelled, but the angel didn’t budge. Dean was confused for a moment, until he remembered that the angel wouldn’t respond to Dean. Dean didn’t place the collar on him, Dean wasn’t the one that had control over him. As Dean turned to Thomas there was a crackling, static sound filling the air. Before any of them could react, the large fluorescent light above them exploded, glass falling everywhere. Dean fell to the ground, attempting to shield himself from the blast. He felt shards of glass litter  his hair and over his hands, cutting them up. Dean hesitated, waiting to see if anymore damage would be done. The ground had stopped shaking and he couldn’t feel anymore residue glass falling, so he slowly got up and looked over in the direction of the angel.

 

Randall was already standing up, staring down at the angel with a furious gaze. Castiel on the other hand, looked weary, almost as if he was struggling to stand up. His face was paler than usual, almost as if all the blood had drained from his head.

 

“What the fuck was that, Castiel?” Randall snapped with a grating harshness. “You little _shit!”_

 

Before Dean could even blink, there was a loud cracking sound as the back of Randall’s hand made contact with Castiel’s cheek. The angel leant over from the impact, his hands rising to his cheek and cradling it. He looked up at the hunter and Dean could see it, the defiance. The angel wasn’t backing down, wasn’t going to admit weakness. Dean knew all about defiance, he’d seen it in his younger brother every time he answered back to their dad. He’d seen it in his father, when he looked monsters in the eye and didn’t even blink. He’d seen it in himself, every now and again. The angel was strong; Dean could give him that. And he was powerful, judging from the recent explosion in the room. Dean didn’t know whether that was an accident or the manipulative mastering of the angel.

 

Randall grabbed the angel’s chain and they were quick to hide behind the storage unit again. It was only moments later that Doctor Robbin stormed in, looking at the scene with wide eyes. From the shattered hole in the roof that used to be a light, to the pieces of glass that floated in the body cavity. After a brief discussion, everyone agreed that a minor earthquake had occurred which caused the damage. Dean walked the coroner back to her office, giving Thomas the chance to sneak Randall and the angel back out. As Doctor Robbins rambled through a story about her first earthquake experience, Dean couldn’t help but try and comprehend what he had just experienced.

 

 

 

The rest of the day went more smoothly than the morning. Dean separated with the others as they got back to the motel. He grabbed himself a packet of chips from the vending machine and went back into his motel room, hiding himself in there to research. He found himself distracted from the case and researching into angels, a curiosity niggling inside of him that he couldn’t ignore. There wasn’t a lot of information, as a lot of it was rather mythology than facts. However, whatever he did find that was useful, he wrote down onto a pad of paper. He didn’t know how much longer he would remain on this case, but he wanted to know as much as he could about angels whilst he was around one. He knew his father would be interested in the information, and it would help Dean for future cases.

 

The day slowly turned to night, and Dean realised that he had forgotten to grab the photocopied case file on the recent victim off of Thomas. So with a huff, he grabbed his motel key and over to the room next to him. He knocked on the door, three light taps and waited patiently. He waited a few moments, only to receive no answer, so he knocked on the door again, this time a bit louder. When even the loud bangs didn’t make anyone open the door, Dean guessed that the duo wasn’t home. With a huff, he pulled out his phone and sent a message to Randall.

 

 **SENT TO (513) 555 3344 [7:01pm]:** hey are u guys home? need case file 4 research.

 

It only took a minute for the other hunter to respond.

 

 **FROM (513) 555 3344 [7:02pm]:** sorry deano, we’re out. just let yourself in and grab it.

 

He grabbed his lockpick out of his jacket pocket and got to work. The oversized jacket had been gift from his father when he turned eighteen. The jacket had always been too big for him, practically hanging off of his small frame. But growing up on the road didn’t allow Dean to have many sentimental things in his life, so the jacket from his father was something he cherished.

 

Within a matter of a couple of seconds, Dean had the door opened. He walked inside and shut the door behind him, heading straight to the round table with all the documents on it. It was hard to see in the darkness of the room so it took a while for Dean to actually locate the table top. Squinting in the darkness, he tried reading the documents but found it difficult. It was also obvious that the other hunters had been researching, due to the folders being all over the place. With a sigh, he began to sort through them, only to be interrupted by a voice which startled him.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

Despite knowing it was the angel’s voice, Dean still stumbled over to the light switch, flicking it on. The room brightened and immediately, Dean locked eyes with him, sat in his usual spot on the other side of the room. He had a frown on his face and his eyes were narrowed on Dean. Dean, having never actually interacted with the angel one on one, felt a little nervous.

 

“Uh… I came over to grab a case file. Randall just said I could let myself in. Where are they anyways?”

 

The angel scoffed, “Did it ever occur to you that those two men never happen to disclose information with me?”

 

There it was, that defiance, that attitude. Whenever the angel briefly spoke, _damn_ did he make it count.

 

Dean rolled his eyes and went back to the file of documents, beginning to sort through the mess. The documents were scattered all over the place, photocopied pages of lore and other mythology sifted in between. Crime scene photos were in the wrong places, along with the toxicology and coroner reports. Dean could feel himself getting agitated at the mess, an obsessive compulsive part of him threatening to rise. Dean did like tidiness, but he was never strict on it. It was his brother who was very organised, especially when it came to paper and documents. He could just imagine if Sam was here, he would probably throw a fit.

 

Dean could feel the nostalgia threatening to rise, so he pushed it down and kept looking, focusing his attention back on the case. He didn’t get far however, as he heard an audible groan echo through the room. He looked over to the side to the see the angel, appearing to be struggling to reach for something. It was then that Dean noticed the glass of water, just out of the angel’s reach. In his research, he came across a fact about angels not needing to eat or drink. Even Randall had mentioned it in passing. It confused him as to why this particular angel was trying so hard for a glass of water.

 

Dean took a moment to deliberate but he didn’t have that much of an internal debate. He put the folders he was holding down and crossed the room, cautiously approaching the angel. The angel looked up at him, his eyes dark and the same permanent frown on his face. Dean saw that there was a redness on his cheek, a noticeable shiner from the backhand earlier in the day. Dean also noticed that one of the angel’s arms was around his torso, as if he was in pain there.

 

Dean knelt down and gently grabbed the glass of water, passing it forward. It was almost instant, the way the frown on the angel’s face flickered from annoyance to shock. His blue eyes widened and his lips parted slightly, rounding into an ‘o’ shape. Dean didn’t understand why the angel was so shocked by his actions, considering he was only passing him a small cup of water. Though the angel seemed pleased, taking it in both of his hands.

 

“Thank you,” The angel murmured. The sudden sincerity in his voice made Dean take an awkward step backwards.

 

“Uh… you’re welcome?” Dean replied, not knowing what else to say. He retreated back to the table and continued sorting through the paperwork. The angel’s voice spoke again.

 

“Under the revenant lore.”

 

A small part of Dean’s brain noted that the angel’s - _Castiel’s_ \- voice was softer than it had been before, but Dean ignored it and instead, shot Castiel a confused glance. Castiel blinked.

 

“The case file, that you are looking for. It’s under the pages on the revenant lore.”

 

Dean looked over at the table and spotted the pages Castiel was talking about. He lifted them up and true to his word, the day’s case file was right there, clear as day. Dean picked it up, relief flooding through him. He turned to look at Castiel, who was still staring at him.

 

“Thanks.” He said, feeling it was too impolite not to at least thank him for his help.

 

Castiel flashed a small smile in response, “You’re welcome Dean.”

 

Dean was then quick to leave the motel room, ignoring the conflicting emotions that lingered in his stomach.

 


	3. Two.

Two more days went by without any more progress on the case, and Dean was frustrated. Yet, it was nothing compared to his fellow hunters, who seemed to be getting agitated over every little thing. All the variables they had researched conflicted with one another, as if they were on a endless, vicious cycle. A person is found dead, they look for evidence but nothing is found and the trail goes cold while they are stuck in the same state of exasperation until another person is found dead. Dean wondered how many people would die before they figured out what was doing the killing.

 

The case however, did give Dean something to focus on, instead of letting his mind wander to Castiel. Dean knew angels were bad, all the horrible stories about them circled his mind like a broken record, yet at the same time he couldn’t help but notice Castiel and his tendencies. Castiel seemed to snap at Thomas and Randall whenever he could. There was also something else there, something that only Dean saw that night when he passed Castiel a glass of water. They were small things – minute details which most people would overlook. Yet, a part of Dean couldn’t. A part of Dean that he was attempting to ignore.

 

By the time the Saturday afternoon rolled around, the hunters were beyond exhausted. The pages in front of Dean were becoming blurry, his weary eyes strained to continue reading. The documents were the same ones they had been reading the past several days and with no new information, they were becoming antsy. The room had built a thick layer of tension, with the three men all wanting to be anywhere but there. Dean wanted to go and grab a good burger or curl up on his motel bed and watch crappy motel TV. He could imagine that Randall and Thomas wanted to head out to another local dive bar for an evening drink. Yet instead, they were trapped in the small motel room at the overly cramped table, and it was suffocating them all.

 

Randall was especially agitated. He was having trouble sitting still, fidgeting in his chair as if he were back in tenth grade math. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were obviously not on the document in front of him. Dean was going to ask what was wrong, but before he could, Randall rose from his seat, storming across the room in a flash. Dean and Thomas both jumped out of their seats just as Randall reached Castiel, gripping the angel by the collar of his button up and pulled him to his feet. Dean stepped away from the table as Randall practically threw Castiel against it, the angel having to hold his arms in front of him to stop the impact.

 

“Enough with the games, _pet_.” Randall snapped, resting the palm his hand on the back of Castiel’s neck. “We aren’t playing around, tell us what the _fuck_ is doing this.”

 

Castiel sighed, “Like I’ve been saying, _I don’t know_.”

 

“I call bullshit,” Thomas spoke roughly, approaching Castiel’s other side. “Are you saying that you… an angel of the Lord… one who can speak any language… can’t identify one simple monster?”

 

“That’s _exactly_ what I have been saying,” Castiel responded, a slight edge of humour in his tone. “I’ve said that repeatedly, so I’m going to spare you another explanation. You have obviously failed to comprehend it with your lack of a fully functioning cognition and...”

 

Before the angel could finish his sentence, he was propelled into the wall, Randall holding him there with a dark fury in his stare. Dean’s eyes widened as he watched the scene unfold. Randall had pinned Castiel to the wall by his collar and chain, leaning in real close so that their faces were only a mere inch apart.

 

“If any other hunter had discovered your pathetic ass, you would have been dead right about now. We _saved_ you Castiel, provided you with a duty on Earth. We gave you a chance to redeem yourself, after all the people you’ve killed, all the cities and countries you’ve _destroyed_ , due to your self-righteous schemes. We give you the ability to help us hunt monsters, save humans, help make this Earth a better place and this is how you repay us? Guess we shouldn’t be surprised, considering your kind are too busy sucking Gods dick than noticing the destruction you leave down here. It’s that kind of filth we expect from monsters. You’re worse than demons Castiel, because at least they can own up to the fact that they kill people. You just claim you are doing it in God’s words but we all know that isn’t true. We know that you all enjoy it, because that’s what you angels like to do. So you are lucky that we didn’t eradicate you like we could have. Because if we could eradicate the world of your kind, the world would be a better place.”

All during Randall’s words, Castiel stayed silent, staring straight ahead as if the words didn’t faze him. The words were harsh, down-right cruel, even if they were directed to an angel. Starting to feel uncomfortable about the situation, Dean told Thomas that he was going to grab something to eat from the vending machine, but the hunter was far too entertained by the situation to notice Dean trying not to rush out the front door.

 

Dean stared at the food in the vending machine for a few minutes as he tried to process what he had just witnessed. He had never felt this conflicted before, especially over hunters berating monsters. He insulted monsters for a living, in fact he found it quite humorous. Monsters took human lives, they were _evil_. They didn’t care about who or what they hurt to gain their own selfish desires, whether it be their next meal or some form of revenge. Rationally he tried to convince himself that he shouldn’t be bothered by what just happened. He knew his father wouldn’t be, or most hunters for that matter. Yet, Dean couldn’t help but feel guilty about it. About the way they talked to Castiel, about the way they violently manhandled him. And the fact that he felt guilty, made him feel confused. Why was he feeling this way? _Why?_

After a few minutes passed, Dean finally bought a random packet of chips from the machine. His appetite was long gone, but he needed to keep up appearances. He was slow to approach the room again, hesitantly opening the door and letting himself in. Thomas was sitting down and appeared to be researching again, whereas Randall was taking Castiel back to his usual place in the room. Dean wandered over and sat down again, watching with a frown as Castiel limped across the room. As the angel sat down, Dean noticed that his left eye was slightly swollen, which it had not been before. While Randall walked back to the table, Castiel locked eyes with Dean for a split second. Dean broke their gaze, looking away and ignoring the cold feeling that threatened to take over his body.

 

None of the hunters said another word and continued to research as if nothing had happened.

 

*   *   *

 

 

Dean woke up the next morning feeling miserable. His night had been filled with a restless sleep, his mind too caught up in its own issues to even consider shutting off for a whole six hours. He was grateful for the fact that he and the hunters were going out for breakfast, because there was no way he would survive the day without a good cup of coffee.

 

He met the hunters outside their motel room; the usual agreement. As the two of them finished getting ready, Dean couldn’t help but sneak a peek through the front window, in order to get a glimpse at the angel. He saw Castiel straight away, in his usual spot against the back wall, the same collar and chain around his neck. The angel looked worse for wear; his eye was undeniably swollen, bright red and puffy. It made the rest of his face seem extremely pale, almost blending into the white wall behind him. It was a little frightening to see Castiel like this, with his head resting against the wall, almost as if he couldn’t keep it upright on his neck. Dean peered closer and noticed blood that was smeared across his white button up, blood that Dean had not seen on Castiel the previous night. Dean took a small step forward towards the window to get a better look, but was interrupted by Thomas, who had walked over to the window to pull the blinds shut.

 

Dean looked away, hoping Thomas hadn’t seen him so intrigued by Castiel. As much as he was curious about him, all he really just wanted was for the case to be over. He didn’t want any tension between himself and the hunter duo. If they were to get this case done as quick as possible, they needed to be on the best terms to do so.

 

The three of them all left together, with Dean deciding to ride with the hunters. He realised it was a mistake once he got into the car and immediately smelt booze with a lingering scent of tobacco. There were fast food wrappers everywhere and multiple splotches of dried blood. Dean cared greatly for his car, it being quite sentimental to him. He had grown up in that car, riding in the backseat or shotgun next to his father. He learnt to hunt in that car, learnt to fight. He learnt every Led Zeppelin song ever known and belted so many tunes with his dad and brother to the point where their throats went hoarse. He even learnt to drive in that car, much to his father’s anxiety. Now the car was owned by him, it was given to him to take care of. He cherished her, his baby. The poor truck he was currently sitting in, wasn’t taken care of and instead mistreated. He sat stiffly in the back seat as Randall drove them to the local diner, praying silently that they got there quickly.

 

For the first time in his life, Dean’s prayers were answered. The diner was only a short drive away and before Dean know it, he was breathing fresh air again as he jumped out of the truck. He followed the hunters inside, silently thinking about how he could casually slip guidelines to _car maintenance_ into their conversation. 

 

The waitress came over and Dean ordered some bacon and eggs, along with a cup of coffee, Thomas and Randall ordering the same. The waitress left with their menus, and the hunters all immediately turned to each other, brainstorming what monster it could be. They didn’t have long until this monster took another victim, and they all needed to be prepared. The other hunters fully believed it was a revenant of some kind, however Dean was not fully convinced. Revenants could create an EMF reaction, plus not all of them were trapped. Some revenants could move freely and kill whoever they pleased. But at the same time, revenants usually killed someone that related to their former selves, very similar to vengeful spirits. Dean had also never heard of any revenants that produced ectoplasm, however, who’s to say he wasn’t wrong on that.

 

“So, Castiel definitely doesn’t know anything? He can’t define if it’s a revenant or not?” Dean asked.

 

Randall froze mid-sip and Thomas stopped chewing his bacon. They exchanged a look.

 

“The angel doesn’t know anything,” Randall replied, placing the mug back on the table. “He may be pretty, but he doesn’t have the intelligence to work this case. He can’t just sniff it out this time, he has to research, sleuth, read and piece together evidence. Something I am sure Halo ain’t able to do.”

 

“But at least he’s easy on the eyes if you know what I mean.” Thomas said, grinning mischievously at Dean, who forced a smile in response.

 

“Oh yeah, he is a nice looking thing isn’t he? Sometimes there are perks to having him around.” Randall chuckled, taking another sip of his coffee.

 

Dean couldn’t say anything, just ate his food quietly. Something about the way they spoke made Dean’s gut twist. He had a bad feeling, a very bad feeling, one that he was trying very hard to ignore.

 

 

Unfortunately, the next morning, his bad feeling proved to be warranted.

 

He awoke the same way he had a couple of days ago, to a call from the police department. There turned out to be another murder, four hours north in Cleveland. The murder seemed to be committed in a similar way to the previous ones they had been investigating, so it was suggested by the detective that they check it out. Dean was quick to get ready, only needing a quick shower and to change into his suit. It wasn’t long before he headed over next door to meet with the duo. He expected the hunters to be ready, as he assumed they had already received the call as well. He went over to the door and knocked, only to receive no answer. He did this a couple of times, each time with no response. He was confused, their truck was still in the parking lot and he _knew_ they weren’t the types to go wandering to a dive bar at 7 in the morning. He walked over to the window and peaked in. The table was the same old, filled with the piles of paper and manila folders, with the only difference being the Chinese takeout containers that the hunters must have ordered the previous night. Their clothes were strewn all over the motel, their bags and suitcases laying around and their beds unmade. It was the motel that Dean had been stuck in for many days, he knew it well by now.

 

The only big difference happened to be the absence of the regular angel in his usual spot, with a broken pile of glass and a puddle of water replacing him. It was then that Dean really trusted his gut instinct, something wasn’t right here. He immediately grabbed the grip of his gun that was resting underneath his blazer. Using his left hand to test the doorknob, he was surprised to find it unlocked and he gently swung it open, revealing the silent and dead room.

 

Was what he suspected at first, until he heard various sounds coming from the the bathroom. He couldn’t pinpoint what exactly they were, but they didn’t sound overly pleasing. He took his gun out of its holster, holding it with both hands in front of him as he slowly approached the bathroom. His heart was beating fast, as the suspense dragged on. Truth was, a part of him was worried for Castiel, considering he hadn’t been so well the previous day.

 

Finally, he approached the doorway of the bathroom, slowly peeking in to see what was happening. His mind took a minute to process what he was seeing as the scene before him was too vile for him to comprehend straight away. First there was Castiel, on the tiled floor, resting on his knees. He looked much the same as the day before; tired, weary, with a blank stare and a painful looking eye. Both hunters were in front of him, backs facing Dean and their full attention on Castiel. Thomas was leaning against the sink, a large silver blade in his hand that was pointed at Castiel. Though, to Dean, that wasn’t the most horrific part.

 

Randall was right in front of Castiel, the lower front of his pants pulled down. Randall had a hand gripping the angel’s hair, as he forced his head towards his own skin.

 

“Stop struggling!” Randall grumbled, his voice rough. “If you keep struggling, we will have no choice but to hurt you.”

 

In response to Randall’s words, Thomas nudged the blade slightly closer to Castiel, so the tip rested against the angel’s neck. Castiel’s jaw was clenched and his lips were pulled into a thin line, forcing his mouth shut.

 

Dean’s eyes widened as he realised what was happening in front of him. Castiel’s unwillingness was expressed boldly through his actions, his eyes dark and filled with resentment. Dean also noticed that Castiel was still currently wearing a human as a vessel...  a human that was _still there_ with him. Experiencing the same thing. The first flames of anger burned low in Dean’s gut.

 

Thomas inched the blade closer, almost breaking the skin on Castiel’s neck. It was then that he decided to draw attention to himself and away from Castiel. He stood in the doorway, clearing his throat. Thomas spotted him first, his eyes widening in surprise. It made Randall glance back, the taller hunter immediately cursing and beginning to pull up his pants. Thomas dropped the blade down onto the floor and stood up straight so that he was no longer leaning against the counter. Both of the hunters look mortified that Dean had found them.

 

“Can we have a word outside?” Dean growled. He turned and marched out the front of the motel room, doing everything he could to control the fury that boiled inside of him. He waited for a few moments, hands clenched beside him, as the hunters made their way out. They had sheepish expressions on their faces, almost as if they were trying to feign innocence.  Even though he really, _really_ wanted to punch them, that would cause a scene, which was what he _didn’t_ want.

 

“What the _fuck_ do you both think you are doing?” Dean spat through clenched teeth.

 

Randall was the first to speak, “Just having a little fun Dean-o, what’s the big deal?”

 

Dean narrowed his eyes. “The big deal is that you can’t just go around forcing people to suck you off because it’s _fun_. Castiel obviously didn’t want to do it, so you held a blade to his _neck_. That’s just sick.”

 

“In case you are forgetting Dean, Castiel is a _monster_.” Thomas replied, his voice sharp. “He’s also ours and we keep him because he’s of use to us. That back there? Him being useful. That’s the only reason we haven’t murdered his feathered ass and he knows that. See, that thing in there? Doesn’t _feel_. You need to remember Winchester that although he may look human; he isn’t. He’s a threat to all of us and you should be grateful that we’re detaining him.”

 

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He could argue his points all day long about sexually assaulting anything, _even_ an angel was morally wrong. Yet, he knew it would be like talking to a brick wall. These men were set in their ways, had opinions that they had stood by for years. Dean wouldn’t be the one to change them.  All he could do was focus on finishing the case, and get as far away as possible from these dicks.

 

“Look, there’s been a killing in Cleveland. I say we just head out there for the day and come back here. Not to risk travelling there with everything and it being a dead end. Sound like a plan?”

 

There was a murmured agreement, then it was settled. Dean went back to his motel room whilst the hunters got ready, returning fifteen minutes later when Randall texted him the go-ahead. Their front door was wide open and the hunters were walking out with their bags. Whilst they loaded up their truck, Dean took the opportunity to go in and check on Castiel. The angel was where he usually was, his head down and tucked into his knees. Dean wandered over quietly and knelt in front of Castiel, gently reaching his hand forward to touch Castiel’s shoulder. The angel jolted, his head snapping up, showcasing his wide and frantic eyes. He calmed immediately, when he realised that it was only Dean in front of him.

 

“Hey buddy, sorry for scaring you. Just thought I’d come and see if you were alright?”

 

Castiel looked confused for a second, furrowing his eyebrows at Dean. Though within a split second, the look was gone, replaced by a neutral expression. Castiel forced a faint smile and nodded. Dean knew better than to try and get Castiel to open up, especially considering the hunters were just outside. Instead, he just gave him a pat on the shoulder before getting up and leaving the room. He had a feeling that no matter how hard he tried to shake it, the memory from that day was going to be ingrained in his brain for a very long time.

 

*   *   *

 

The murder in Cleveland, turned out to be the exact same as the previous ones. Randall and Thomas were coming up to clocking nearly two weeks on this case, stuck in the same never-ending cycle of events. They talked to the victim’s family, visited the local police department, interviewed suspects, examined blood work – all of it showing nothing. Everyone was frustrated and tense, each one of them reaching their limits. The hunter duo was taking it the worst and they projected their frustrations, rather than locking it away inside.

 

Worst of all, they took it out on Castiel.

 

Something had unlocked in Dean’s mind after he witnessed Castiel being nearly forced to pleasure Randall. It was as if he could now _truly_ see how horrible these men were to the angel. The following few days after the Cleveland trip, Dean was more observant than usual, watching the interactions between the hunters and Castiel. They were harsh and belligerent, insulting everything the angel did, no matter what it was. In one of their many research sessions, Dean actually saw Randall snap at Castiel for breathing. _Breathing_. It put Dean on edge, and he became hyper aware of what he was doing. He was afraid of upsetting the men as well, considering they could be nasty when they were angry.

 

Castiel was getting worse for wear. After the event at the coroner's office, Dean would enter the motel room every morning to find Castiel looking worse than the day before. The hunters always seemed chuffed, and didn’t seem to give a shit that Castiel would be practically writhing in pain during some points in the day. Dean would always feel the need to go over and ask Castiel if he was okay, but he never could under the hunters’ watchful gaze.

 

He was able to one morning however, when Randall and Thomas left to go grab some coffee. It was Dean’s eleventh day on this particular case, even longer for the others. They were all wearily going over the last few pages of lore they had, when Thomas had suggested a coffee break. The duo went to go get it, whilst Dean opted to stay in the motel room. Being stuck in that room with them was confining enough, he didn’t need to go through another car ride with them.

 

Once they were gone, Dean couldn’t help but sneak a glance over at Castiel. The angel was picking at the carpet next to him, looking quite horrendously bored. His once swollen eye had now darkened to resemble a black eye.

 

“… uh… how are you going? Do you need anything?” Dean asked, silently cursing at the nervousness that floated through his voice.

 

Castiel looked up, slightly startled as his gaze met Dean’s. His face softened slightly and he produced a small smile.

 

“I’m quite alright Dean, thank you for asking.” Castiel replied.

 

“Are you sure? I mean I could get you an ice pack or something while they’re gone...?”

 

“That won’t be necessary, but thank you again.”

 

Dean didn’t push it any further and settled back into his research, but he did notice that the tension had eased out of the room considerably.

 

Dean had a strong feeling that Castiel didn’t hate him, despite the fact that he was currently working with his captors. It was events such as their small conversation, that made that feeling grow stronger and stronger. Such as the fact that Castiel always seemed to be more relaxed when he was just with Dean, even though those moments were never very long. Or the fact that when they caught each other’s eye, Castiel would flash Dean a small smile. Dean believed that Castiel felt calm around him, but it was only because he too felt calm around Castiel. He was tense around the other hunters, especially if it was just the three of them alone. But with Castiel, he felt slightly more safe.

 

The feelings were conflicting for him, considering this whole time he had tried to see the worst in the angel, had tried to constantly remind himself of all the evil things that angels had created on Earth. Yet, it was hard to see Castiel as evil, especially the more Dean was around him. He knew the hunters would disagree, probably even Dean’s own father, but he couldn’t believe that Castiel was completely evil. Dean was always known to trust his gut instincts, and his told him there was more to Castiel than being a soldier of the Lord.

 

His gut instincts is what led him to the situation that arose on his twelfth day on the hunt. Dean returned to the motel room in the early afternoon, after a trip to the library to gather more lore books. He dumped them all on the hunter duo’s table, both of them immediately reaching for a book and beginning to read. Castiel wasn’t in his usual spot, but rather by the bed, sitting on the floor with his head down.

 

Dean grabbed one of the books and walked over to Castiel, passing it to him. Castiel looked up at him, his eyes shining with delight as he accepted the large book from Dean. Dean looked over at the hunters, who were looking at him with a mixed expression of disgust and horror.

 

“What the fuck, Winchester?” Randall hissed.

 

Dean shrugged. “We need more eyes, the more of us that read, the more quickly we might be able to find this thing.”

 

The hunters weren’t happy, but they went back to reading their own books. Dean grabbed one from the pile and began to read himself, appreciating the silence in the room. The group were like this for twenty minutes, just reading through the books without a word needing to be said. It was only when Dean began to stretch his neck, did he notice the angel off to the side. Castiel had a look of contemplation on his face, as he studied the book. He kept darting his eyes up to Thomas and Randall, almost as if he was going to speak, before turning back to the book. Dean decided to save him from his misery, and to see if he found anything that could help them.

 

“Did you find something Castiel?” Dean asked, looking over at the angel, who perked his head up at Dean’s words. The hunters stopped reading and immediately turned their heads to Castiel, narrowing their eyes at him.

 

“There is a particular creature mentioned in here called a darkling. Have you ever encountered one?” Castiel questioned.

 

Randall scoffed.

 

“Obviously not dumbass, otherwise we would of already researched into it.”

 

Dean clenched his fists under the table.

 

“Darklings are demonlike spirits, they take on the form of a child. They curse an object and whenever this object falls in the possession of someone, that person won’t live long. They begin to have haunting images of the Darkling in its child form and then soon, the darkling will strike.”

 

As Castiel read out the traits of the darkling, Dean pieced together the information from the case files.

 

“So maybe the little girl that the second victim saw, the one outside her window? Maybe that was the darkling?” Dean wondered aloud. The duo hummed in agreement.

 

“What object could the darkling haunt though? None of them had the exact same possessions on them.” Thomas questioned.

 

They grabbed the crime scene photos out of the case files, laying them out and searching through them rapidly. It was like a very challenging game of spot the difference, or in this case, find the similarity. It took some time but soon Randall spotted that each crime scene photo had one same object in the background. A blue lighter.

 

Relief began to flood through Dean as the pieces were _finally_ starting to come together. The hunters all looked at each other excitedly, as the thought of finally being able to solve this case became so prominent in their minds. The happy mood was shattered though, as Dean turned to Castiel with a big smile and exclaiming:

 

“Good job, Cas!”

 

The room went dead silent and Dean realised what he had done. The angel, on the other  hand, looked ecstatic. His face had lit up at Dean’s words in a way the hunter had never seen before. However, the nickname, which had rolled off his tongue so easily, had infuriated the hunters he was with. Their faces were hard as stone, eyes dark and glaring daggers. Within a split second, Randall grabbed Dean by the arm and pulled him outside, leaving Castiel behind in the motel room.

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you Dean? What the fuck happened back there?” Randall snapped, pushing Dean slightly.

 

Dean scowled at the hunters, crossing his arms. “I thanked Castiel for his work? He helped us find the monster, the one you have been hunting for over two weeks. I just had the decency to thank him, what’s wrong with that?”

 

“What’s wrong with it, is that you need to know your fucking place Winchester.” Thomas growled. “You don’t get to go around calling that… that _filth_ a nickname. You don’t get to thank him, or talk to him, or treat him with any amount of respect. He’s a _monster_ , Dean. A _monster_. And he is also _our_ monster. You coming in here, attempting to treat that thing with kindness is sickening. He doesn’t _deserve_ that. You need to remember what you are Dean; you need to remember what your job is. Cause we don’t mind making a few calls out to the community if we think your _abilities_ aren’t up to standard.”

 

Dean was shaking with rage. How dare these hunters threaten him? These hunters who felt that sexually assaulting someone was a go-to time of fun. These hunters who are mad at him for treating their highly functioning angel hostage with a little bit of decency.

 

“Look, we’re going to need your help to finish the case.” Randall said. “So let’s agree to work together until we kill that fucking freak of a monster. Then, we can go back to hunting separately like we’re used to. Deal?”

 

Dean and Thomas both murmured their agreements, before they headed back inside. As Dean followed the hunters, he knew one thing for sure. As soon as they killed that darkling, he was getting as far away from those bastards as possible.

 

 *   *   *

 

As the sun rose the next morning, the hunters all gathered together to find the object. It was like finding a needle in a haystack, with the item being a small, useless object that most people wouldn’t associate with being a source of a crime. It was a mystery how it even got from crime scene to crime scene, so trying to find where it was now was going to be a challenge.

 

The tension in the air lingered like smog, so thick and suffocating it was hard to focus. The two hunters were sullen, dark look on their faces whenever they exchanged eye contact with Dean.  They all talked in clip tones and spoke only when it was necessary. Dean wanted to find this bitch from hell quickly, so that he wouldn’t have to spend one more day with those two men.

 

Castiel had disappeared from sight. Dean knew where he was though, considering the bathroom door was shut and the light that creeped through the cracks flickered constantly. It was ridiculous how delusional these men were, how caught up they were in their regime that they never thought for a second that maybe they were the ones that were wrong.

 

After a lot of calls were made and reading through a pile of documents again and again, they pinpointed that the lighter had been put in an evidence bag for the most recent victim. All the items in evidence had been looked at and those with that were irrelevant were discarded. Along with a few wrappers and a stick of chewing gum, the lighter had been thrown away as it was no longer useful. However, they had discovered over the phone from one of the officers, that one of his co-workers had taken the lighter earlier that morning. They ended the call with the officer’s address written safely on a legal pad and a plan of attack for later that night. Dean left the hunters room in relief, grateful for some time without them.

 

He ate lunch at a local burger joint and spent most of the afternoon in his motel room, gearing up for the night. His thoughts wandered continuously, as he thought about what happened the previous day, about the previous week. He felt so disconnected. He mechanically loaded his guns, packed them into his bag, worked out the route to the officer’s house in Cleveland without even taking a moment to think about it. All he could think about was Castiel. What was going to happen to him once Dean and the hunters departed ways? What was going to become of him?

 

Dean toyed with the idea to help him escape before the hunters could lay another finger on him. He knew that Castiel didn’t deserve the treatment he received, didn’t deserve the abuse whether it be physical or sexual in nature. Yet… at the same time… what would that say about Dean if he let the angel go? What kind of hunter would he be? What would his father think?

 

The thought of his dad caused a cold feeling to abrupt in his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard his dad’s voice. They weren’t the heart to heart type of men and Dean never really had a longing to talk to his dad. Yet after the events of recently and knowing these two men were ‘buddies’ of his father, he felt a call to his dad was needed.

 

The phone rang twice before the line clicked and his father’s gruff voice spoke through the phone.

 

“Dean?”

 

“Dad. Hey. How’ve you been?”

 

There was a silence for a few moments, before he heard his dad’s familiar airy chuckle.

 

“It’s good to hear from you kid. It’s been same old in my neck of the woods, just taking down one son of a bitch at a time. How’s things on your end? Heard you were hunting with Randall and Thomas?”

 

Dean bit his lip as he thought about what to say. He wanted nothing more than to tell his father what he really thought about the two hunters he was currently working with. But at the same time, these two men had known his father a very long time.

 

“It’s been a bit difficult, the monster was a tricky bastard to track down. It’s something called a Darkling? Never heard of it before yesterday, when we found it in some old lore book. We’re gonna strike tonight and hopefully take the bitch down.”

 

“That’s my boy,” His dad had replied, “remember what I always tell you. Aim for the head, don’t get distracted, make sure you have every corner covered.”

 

“Shoot first, ask questions later, I got it.”

 

His dad chuckled again before silence crept through the phone. Dean knew he needed to ask his dad about it, as much as it scared him to think about what his father’s answer would be.

 

“Dad?” Dean’s voice wavered on the end, much to his agitation. His dad grunted a reply.

 

“Uh… do you know about… about Randall and Thomas’ _secret weapon?_ ” Dean questioned, ignoring the drop in his stomach.

 

“You mean the angel?” His dad said, after a moment of hesitation. Dean swallowed.

 

“Uh yeah  Castiel.”

 

“I don’t care about its name Dean. What’s the problem?”

 

Dean sighed, “It’s nothing Dad. Just… don’t you think Randall and Thomas are a bit… abusive?”

 

“ _Abusive?_ Don’t tell me you are going soft Dean.”

 

Dean groaned, “Dad I’m not going soft, it’s just…”

 

“Dean.” His dad said firmly. “Angels are warriors, soldiers of God. They’re more powerful than demons and don’t know the difference between right and wrong. They could cause mass destruction in seconds if they felt they were doing it in God’s name. They’re horrible sons of bitches and I’m happy that Randall and Thomas have one of ‘em trapped.”

 

They said their goodbyes before ending the call. Dean groaned and leant forward, holding his head in his hands.

 

He had no idea what he was going to do.

 

 

Dean arrived at the officer’s house in Cleveland a little after 9. He parked a couple of houses down, right behind Randall and Thomas’ truck. He got out of the car and headed the trunk to get his supplies. He looked over to see the two other men jump out with Randall opening the door to the backseat to roughly yank Castiel out. Dean gritted his teeth as he slammed the trunk door shut. He put his bag on his shoulder and wandered over to them, remembering that the case was nearly over. This would all be over soon.

 

“Scope the area?” Dean asked to which the hunters exchanged a look.

 

“Sounds like a plan.” Thomas replied.

 

They headed over quietly, trying not to disturb anyone in the neighbourhood. A dog barked at the four of them but one look from Castiel silenced it. They snuck along the fence line of the officer’s house, before splitting off to try and peak through the windows. Randall and Castiel went one way, whilst Thomas and Dean went another. They peaked through the windows of the kitchen and living room to find nothing but dark, empty rooms. They crept against the wall of the house and turned to the corner so they were in the backyard. There was a window overlooking the backyard which Dean discovered to be the bedroom. The first look in, Dean noticed nothing out of the ordinary. However, he peaked in further to the other side of the room and there was when he noticed it. A man in his pyjamas, curled up against the wall with pure terror in his eyes. He was staring up at a small dark figure who seemed to float rather than stand.

 

Dean didn’t think twice and  him and Thomas barged into the house guns blazing. Instantly, Dean was thrown back against one wall of the room, banging his head hard against the wood frame. Thomas was clutched in the Darkling’s grip and was tossed through the window, glass shattering as he flew  into the backyard.

 

The darkling abandoned the officer, who was barely alive. It glided over to Dean, an evil smile on its face. Like the lore stated, the darkling was in a child’s form. A young girl who looked no older than ten. She had brown pigtails and a chubby face, but most of her childlike features were gone. Her mouth was too big for her face, with pointed teeth which dripped black goo. The darkling’s eyes were black like a demon’s, which were narrowed in on Dean. Dean saw his reflection in the eyes as the darkling began to choke him, slowly sucking the life out of him. The darkling was grinning, a low, guttural chuckle rumbling from their chest. It was terrifying to see on a young girl.

 

Suddenly the darkling jerked away violently. Dean fell to the ground, wheezing. He looked up to see Castiel, chain and collar still on, holding a glowing hand to the darkling’s forehead.

 

As the darkling began to smoke, Castiel’s nose started bleeding. The darkling suddenly let out a bark of laughter and Cas stumbled backwards, losing his grip on the darkling. Dean struggled to get up off the floor but a quick punch from the darkling knocked the wind out of him again. As the darkling loomed over Cas - it suddenly cried out in pain.

 

Randall had appeared, shoving a silver knife right into the darkling’s back. It screamed in rage, seizing as the silver poisoned it. It kept screaming until it exploded into black smoke.

 

Dean gripped the wall to pull himself up, finally feeling stable enough to move. He rubbed his neck, looking over at Castiel who was motionless on the ground, weak and bloody. Just as he opened his mouth to thank Cas, Randall stormed over to the angel heaving him up off the ground.

 

“You’re a useless piece of shit, aren’t you?” Randall chuckled darkly, looking at the angel in disgust. “One bloody demon and you can’t even smite it? What kind of angel are you?”

 

Thomas wandered in, bruised and bloody from his toss through the window. Randall quickly relayed the events to him and the other hunter had a similar response.

 

“You call yourself a warrior of God?” He asked Castiel, who just stood limply in Randall’s grip. “You’re nothing but a pathetic mess. Worse than that thing we just killed.”

 

Dean could feel the anger bubbling up inside of him. Castiel had saved his life, had helped saved all of their asses. And what did he get in return? A bunch of derogatory remarks. Dean clenched and unclenched his fists as adrenaline burned through his veins. Dean was ready for a fight, ready to say something to these men. Yet, before he could, Randall turned to Dean.

 

“Thanks for your help tonight Dean.” Was all he said, before turning and dragging Castiel outside. Thomas turned to Dean with an expressionless face.

 

“Catch you later.” He said, following his partner out of the house.

 

Dean was left in the remnants of the fight, with a semi-conscious police officer and a fire in his stomach that he couldn’t ignore. 

 

 

 *   *   *

 

 

Dean called for an ambulance before bolting from the scene of the crime. He burnt the lighter in the officer’s backyard before taking the 3 hour drive back to the motel in Cincinnati, wondering why he didn’t just get a motel in Cleveland for the night.

 

Despite making it back late, Dean didn’t sleep most of the night. Thoughts raced through his mind as he constantly replayed the night’s events, especially the way Castiel came in and ripped that darkling away from Dean. He remembered standing there, attempting to catch his breath, watching as the angel slowly became weaker and weaker from trying to use his abilities. He watched Cas almost _die_ , because he was saving Dean.

 

He knew what he needed to do, it was obvious. He needed to help Castiel escape.

 

*   *   * 

 

Early the next morning, Dean was ready with a plan. He was going to invite the hunters out for coffee as a ‘clear-the-air-congratulatory-we-won’ breakfast. He then was going to wait until they drove away before quickly using the small amount of time he had to free Cas of his collar. While Cas was making his escape from the town, Dean would eat breakfast with Randall and Thomas and try to clear the air. They would think Cas escaped on his own and it would allow him to repay Cas for saving his life.

 

As he walked out of his own room that morning, he noticed that the hunters’ truck was no longer there. Hopeful that the hunters had already gone to get breakfast, he sneaked up to the window and peered in. A cold dread filled his stomach when he saw a room devoid of any signs of life.

 

Moments later, he had unlocked the door and was standing in the middle of an empty motel room. The weapons were gone, the table was cleared, their bags and clothes were no longer strewn across the place. But most importantly, the room was missing a familiar angel, sat against the back wall, a collar and chain around his neck.

 

Dean felt the anger rush inside of him and before he knew it, he had hit the wall in pure frustration. Cas had saved his life the night before, if it weren’t for him, Dean wouldn’t be standing there that morning. Yet now Cas was gone, and Dean couldn’t repay the favour.

 

Dean had failed him.

 

 


	4. Three.

Dean spent the day driving around Cincinnati, trying to see if the hunters were still in the area. To Dean’s dismay, he saw no sign of the scratched up truck and came to the conclusion that Cas was long gone. He was quick to leave Cincinnati after that, travelling to Frankfort, Kentucky on what looked like a potential poltergeist case. He arrived at the local motel early that evening, feeling as if a truck had hit him. He was exhausted, and he knew that he needed to sleep, but the guilt he was feeling prevented him from doing so. It was a horrible feeling, the culpability. It clawed at Dean from the inside, it made him feel powerless. Trying to sleep only made him think more and more about Cas, made him replay everything over and over and over again. It was vicious, the way Dean’s mind attacked itself, and the way he couldn’t stop it.

 

So instead of sleeping, he resorted to drinking.

 

Three quarters of a whiskey bottle later, Dean had fallen into a sleep, his brain too fuzzy from the alcohol to focus on the self-commendation he felt.

 

 *   *   *

 

He awoke in a field.

 

One minute he was sleeping in the motel room, and the next he was lying in a field of yellow flowers. He sat up, confused, looking around him at the endless stream of what appeared to be… tulips? There was a sense of familiarity about the field, he knew he had been there before, at some point in his life. He just couldn’t pinpoint when.

 

He began to walk, carefully trying not to trod on any of the flowers. If his mother were still alive she would have loved this. He had vague memories of her in the living room, fussing over a vase of flowers or squealing with delight when his father would surprise her with a bouquet one random night. It was those memories that Dean kept stored away for the bad days.

 

He walked for what felt like a while, until he suddenly came across another figure in the distance. He immediately stood still, slowly reaching for his gun, only to realise he didn’t have one.  So he quietly walked forward, trying to get a good look of who was in front of him. It wasn’t until he noticed the familiar trench coat and dark hair that he realised who had joined him in the field.

 

Castiel was sitting down on a slope, staring out at the distance, which happened to be more and more endless tulips. One moment Dean was staring at him from a distance, and the next second there was a tug in his gut and before he knew it, he was sitting next to him. Cas was silent, staring ahead with a thoughtful expression on his face. He didn’t have the collar on his neck here, nor the chain that was connected to it. He looked so much more at ease, better than Dean had ever seen him.

 

“This isn’t a real… this is a dream. This must be a dream… if you’re here.” Dean said aloud. The angel hummed silently, a small smile forming on his face.

 

“Just because it’s a dream… doesn’t mean it’s not real Dean.” He replied, turning so that his gaze met Dean’s own. Dean couldn’t help but note how bluer Castiel’s eyes looked here.

 

“I’m sorry,” Dean spoke after a moment’s hesitation. “I’m sorry for not saving you. I tried but… you were already gone. You saved me and I wasn’t able to with you. I’m… so sorry.”

 

Dean blushed, embarrassed by his apology. He hated the way he babbled like a baby. Cas didn’t seem to mind though, flashing Dean that smile. It was that unique smile; the smile he only saved for Dean.

 

“That’s quite alright Dean, I appreciate the sentiment. Not many hunters would willingly admit to wanting to help my kind. The fact you have, I am grateful for.”

 

“You saved my life, man. The least I could have done was repay the favour.” Dean said, hating the feeling of remorse that threatened to rise again.

 

They sat in silence, watching the tulips as they swayed gently in the breeze. Dean grazed his fingers along one next to him and almost instantly, Dean remembered where he was.

 

“This is in Alabama,” Dean said, the memories hitting him in a flood. “We stayed here for a couple of weeks whilst Dad worked a case. This field was only a couple of minutes’ walk from school. My brother, Sammy, was only eight and he loved seeing the flowers. I took him here almost every day.”

 

Cas was quiet for a moment, almost as if he was reflecting on what Dean had just said.

 

“Tell me about him… Sammy, was it?”

 

Dean chuckled. “Sammy is just the name my dad and I call him. By the time he was twelve, he would get so mad when we called him that. He goes by Sam nowadays, well… at least I think he does. I haven’t seen him in a couple of years, not since he ran off to college. He’s always been the smart one of us two, he always _loved_ school. I mean… who loves school? So it wasn’t a surprise when he got offered a full ride to Stanford and I don’t blame him for taking it, as much as it angered Dad.”

 

“What is your brother studying?” Cas asked.

 

“Pre-Law.” Dean said, a feeling of pride rushing through him. “I wasn’t surprised that he wanted to become a lawyer, especially because he loved arguing with my dad his whole damn life. He could work his way out of most punishments, just by a few choice words. Dad was always pretty hard on me, always wanted me to become the hunter that I am today. Sammy hated that, he always said I could do more with my life, that we could escape hunting once and for all but… hunting is everything I know. It’s the only thing I’m good at. I can’t imagine ever leaving the life.”

 

He was surprised to see Cas shaking his head, a small frown on his face.

 

“Hunting is not the only thing you are good at Dean.” Cas murmured, turning so that he was fully facing the hunter. “Your brother is right, you have so much potential for many things Dean, I see it when I look at you. You are a great hunter, but that doesn’t mean you will _always_ have to be a great hunter. There are so many opportunities out there for you, more than you know.”

 

Castiel stopped speaking so that he could lean down and pluck one of the tulips. He spun it between his fingers, before gently handing it off to Dean, who accepted it hesitantly.

 

“Sometimes the path that has been laid out before you, doesn’t always mean that it’s the path you are destined to choose.”

 

Dean went to reply, wanting to say something along the lines of: _‘what the fuck does that mean?’_ but before he could, he was suddenly pulled away – Cas and the tulips all disappearing into darkness.

 

Next thing he knew, he was awake in the motel room, dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing the day before, and the near empty bottle of Jack sitting on the table beside him.

 

It was a dream. It was all a dream.

 

Disappointment flooded through Dean at the thought that seeing Cas was only a figment of his alcohol induced imagination. Of course, it had to be true. Cas was probably miles away from him at the moment, there was no way he could of seen him. Especially not in a tulip field in Alabama. Dean felt stupid for thinking that Cas had been there at all.

 

That was until he looked down at his hands, to find something crumpled in one of them. He opened his fingers, his heart leaping as he realised what was sitting in the palm of his hand.

 

A yellow tulip.

 

 *   *   *

 

Cas became a part of Dean’s dreams from that moment onwards, much to Dean’s joy.

 

He moved on from Frankfort to Hot Springs, Arkansas, where he was notified a pack of werewolves had been residing. It only took him a couple of days to take out the whole pack, murdering them like they murdered seven women. Most of the time, he celebrated an end of the case by going out for a drink. Now however, he celebrated by getting a visit from Cas.

 

It was in Cas' second visit that he explained what was happening. It turned out that Castiel’s grace allowed him to dream walk, in a way that enabled him to mind meld with another and see their dreams. He himself, did not move, not like most dream walkers Dean had heard of. His body was still there, alive and breathing, but his mind and grace were someplace else. Dean had asked him why he hadn’t done it before, when they were both in Cincinnati together. Cas had responded saying that he was too frightened to do it, as he was scared Dean would tell the hunters about what happened. He said that you had to trust a person a lot, to want to enter their dreams.

 

Castiel began to tell him a lot of things, mostly about angels and Heaven. Although Dean hadn’t wanted to admit it, he was curious to learn more about Castiel’s kind, and about Heaven, the place they called home. To his surprise, Castiel wasn’t fond of his brothers and sisters. He described them as mindless followers, who would do anything a superior told them too. There was a bitterness in his voice that Dean couldn’t ignore, but he decided not to dwell on it, for Cas’ sake.

 

Castiel described Heaven as being the most unique but sterile place he’d ever known. He explained the mechanics of the place, how it was mostly made up of billions of individualised heavens, each heaven belonging to a different person who lived on Earth. He said that there were some he favoured, such as the heaven that belong to an Autistic man who drowned in a bathtub in 1953. He described his Heaven as being an eternal Tuesday, with lush green grass and perfect blue skies. It was quiet and peaceful and usually where he ran to when he was feeling too overwhelmed.

 

However, there was a connecting dimension of Heaven, the place where angels managed and overlooked all the different heavens and facilities.

 

_“Like a headquarters?” Dean had asked, to which Cas had cracked a smile._

_“Yes Dean, like a headquarters.”_

Castiel had described that place as being sterile. Everything was white and inane. It lacked character, lacked a sense of comfort. He told Dean that most of the angels preferred that, having lived their many millennia accustomed to it. Learning more about angels, made Dean realise how far Castiel was from being angelic. Cas had this sincere kindness, seemed to feel pain and remorse in a way that Dean didn’t expect. He had read and was told that angels couldn’t comprehend human emotions and weren’t able to distinguish right from wrong. Either Dean had gotten his facts wrong or Cas was a special kind of unique.

 

In return for Cas telling Dean about life amongst the clouds, Dean told Cas about hunting. He talked about growing up on the road, travelling across the country with his father and brother in the Impala, (Dean was very insistent on telling Cas all about his baby, describing everything about his 1967 Chevy Impala from the coat on the outside to the internal machinery, for the most part, the angel seemed interested). He talked about what it was like to learn about monsters from a young age, to learn about guns and weapons as a ten-year-old. He talked about his first kill at the age of twelve – how his dad had been so proud of him when he had salt and burned a body for the first time, laying a vengeful spirit to rest.

 

Castiel asked Dean what he liked about hunting, in which Dean replied that he liked saving people. He also didn’t hate the thrill he got from slaughtering something evil, but most of all, he liked that he was able to do something worthy in the world.

 

When Cas asked Dean if he wanted to stay a hunter, or if he wanted to get out like Sam had - Dean had to stop and think about it.  On one hand, he liked hunting and enjoyed living life out on the road. Yet on the other hand, sometimes hunting got to be too much, too exhausting and sometimes Dean considered just giving it all up.

 

 _“This is all I know; I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.”_ Was what he said instead.

 

A sad smile formed on Castiel’s lips at Dean’s words.

 

_“Even if something is all you know, doesn’t mean that it’s all you have to be.”_

There was this raw emotion behind Castiel’s words, almost as if it hit a little too close to home. It was then that Dean realised that there was more to Cas’ story than he was letting on.

 

 

Dean didn’t ever think Cas was going to tell it, not until one of their recurring dream visits a week later.

 

By this point, Dean had left Hot Springs, in search for a Djinn in Bloomington, Illinois. Time passed quickly when Dean was hunting, especially when his nights were filled with a good night’s rest and visits from his best friend. It felt weird to call Cas his best friend, considering they had only known each other for five weeks, two of them being spent with Dean buddying up with Cas’ torturers. But Dean had never had anyone who he could call a ‘best friend’ apart from his brother, but with Sam it was different – they only had each other, no one else.

 

Cas came into Dean’s dreams every night and _listened_. Whether it was Dean telling him about hunting or his family or about his favourite food and music (burgers and _Ramblin On_ by Led Zeppelin). Cas would also reveal small bits about his own life every time they met. He talked more about the difference between human and angels, such as the fact that angels didn’t need to sleep or eat or drink. He explained that the only time angels did either was when their grace was low and they were more human than they were a celestial being. Dean didn’t need to think too much to connect the dots. Cas had been drinking water back at the motel in Cincinnati, there were times when he took a long while to heal, times when Dean was sure he heard Castiel’s stomach grumble.

 

The collar Cas wore, made him weak, weak enough to be near to human.

 

Castiel was talking about this in one dream. The dreams were now no longer in the field of flowers, but rather on a jetty by a lake, a place that Dean’s dad once took him for a fishing trip, when he was about six years old. They sat on the edge of the jetty, both of their legs dangling down, not long enough to reach the water. Cas was talking about how angels weren’t created to feel emotions, instead they were created to serve. He began to discuss how he was always fascinated by humans, the way they were able to contain so many different emotions. How they could be happy, sad, angry, confused, frightened, surprised – the list went on. He said that sometimes he would wish to himself, that he was a human, rather than an angel.

 

“I was always obsessed with humans. I was assigned to watch you for several hundred years, and every time I was fascinated. I loved the creations you made, the way you used high order thinking to problem solve some of the most difficult of challenges. I admired the way you loved and cared for one another, such as a couple on their day of matrimony or a mother when she held her child for the first time. It was seeing events such as that, that made me have a devoting faith to humanity. Which indeed… was most certainly the reason I fell.”

 

Dean froze at Castiel’s words, and he slowly turned his head to face him, an expression of shock written all over his face.

 

“You… _fell?_ ” Dean asked, almost choking on the words.

 

“Just before those… hunters found me, I had fell from Heaven,” Cas explained. “I wasn’t living up to my standard of duties. I was a commander, I led a garrison of angels. Most of the time we were asked to observe humans on Earth, make notes and records, report any unhealthy or unnatural behaviours we saw. Though recently, we were upgraded, they wanted to send us onto the battlefield.”

 

“The battlefield?”

 

“The battlefield was Earth, our mission was to bring an equilibrium to the world, or at least that is what they claimed. My garrison and I watched the Earth for many, _many_ years and of course, there were times when the Earth needed to be balanced again, such as the two great wars. Angels went undercover in those, resorting to save as many people and bring the world back to a state of harmony. Of course, we can’t intervene too much, but we intervened enough to not cause too much mass destruction. However, there are times when our superiors insisted we needed to bring the world back to a state of peace, by killing innocents. A terror attack here, a mass killing here. They never gave us a reason for doing so, rather that it was God’s will. I never had to do it, until recently they commandeered us to do so, and I refused.”

 

Dean took in what Cas said, his heart beating fast at the angel’s words. “So what happened next?”

 

“I fell.” Cas spoke with a sigh. “It was either I go through re-education, which is one of the most gruesome forms of torture an angel can partake in, or they would strip me of my wings. I would still have my grace, but I would no longer be able to access Heaven, no longer be able apart of a garrison, and the longer I am away from Heaven, the longer I am away from the source of my grace, meaning…”

 

“You would slowly become human.” Dean finished.

 

“Precisely. I fell to Earth and was able to reside in a human vessel. His name was James or ‘Jimmy’ Novak. He was a man dying from a car accident that killed both his wife and daughter. We made an agreement with each other, that I would send his soul to Heaven if he were to give me his vessel. It was a beneficial agreement for the both of us. I snuck out of the hospital and had nowhere to go. So I wandered for a few days, exploring much of the Earth as I could, until I came across a newspaper with an article about a recent series of attacks.”

 

“Demon attacks?” Dean asked, remembering how Randall and Thomas had told him about what case they had been working on when they first met Castiel. A dread filled his stomach.

 

Cas nodded. “Yes, demon attacks. I began to work the case, attempted to put my knowledge and skills to the test. I obviously wasn’t subtle in my attempt to blend in, because I met Thomas and Randall, the both of them seeing right through me. It was only a couple of days later that I was captured, and I have been this way since.”

 

Dean wanted to apologise, wanted to say to Cas how sorry he was for letting the hunters put him through all that shit. Though before he could, Castiel continued talking.

 

“I have faced torture at points, through being an angel,” Cas said, his voice slightly shaky. “But… the torture I received from those men, was nothing that I have ever received before. I have taken plenty of beatings, been bruised from top to bottom many times. It was never a concern to me, I pushed through each time. Those hunters never bothered me, not when it came to their hits or their vile, insulting words. That was never the problem… it was there other methods, that I found most hard to manage.”

 

Dean began to feel colder and colder and his chest further tightened into a coil.

 

“What you witnessed that one morning, was nothing compared to the other things they have put me through. I would take orally pleasing them any day, over the days when they force themselves onto me. It used to start out so minimal, with them touching me inappropriately, just in random places. At first, it was nothing drastic, but then came the recent night when they forced me onto the bed. They took off my clothes piece by piece, put my tie in my mouth to stifle my screaming. I still remember the pain I felt when Randall forced himself in me, like I was nothing but a orifice, a doll for them to play with.”

 

There was a raw emotion in Cas’s voice, a mixture of anger, pain and sadness. His eyes were shining with tears and he was shaking like a leaf. Randall and Thomas had taken his dignity from him, had taken his freedom to choose. They had taken something from him that he could never get back.

 

Dean reached out and placed his hand over Cas’s, gripping it tight. He watched as the angel slowly breathed in and out, attempting to compose himself. Cas held Dean’s hand back, squeezing it tightly as he slowly calmed down. Cas was less a celestial being these days and more human, and something as traumatising as what he had gone through, was enough to set all those new emotions he was feeling over the edge. Dean understood, and let Cas take his time in working through them.

 

“My time on Earth almost made me consider giving up on humanity.” Cas murmured. “That is until I met you of course. You showed me this kindness I had seen in humans before, but hadn’t experienced in many months. You gave me hope that not all humans were bad, and the more I got to know you, the more I realised that you weren’t like the other men. You were conflicted and had your doubts, but even through them you were always there for me and for that, I felt like I could continue to live, that maybe this world wouldn’t be so bad.”

 

Dean turned to face Cas, to find the angel’s eyes already on him. It was silent, the only sounds heard being the small lull of the water and their breaths. Cas was staring at him with such an intensity that Dean felt self-conscious but at the same time, didn’t want to turn away. Almost as if it were a movie, time began to go slower as gradually, the angel began to lean in. Dean froze still, preparing himself for the contact when –.

 

With a large inhale, Dean shot up in bed, awaking from the dream. He was in the motel room, Cas was gone and there was a situation going on under the covers. Dean immediately felt gross and frustrated as he angrily jumped out of bed and headed for the shower. It was a motel, so the shower was hardly in the best condition, but it would have to do. The pressure was good on his back though, and helped wash away the sweat he had woken up in. He ran his hands through his hair and attempted to think of anything that would make the painful erection he currently had, go away. He hated that it was there, hated the _reason_ it was there. Most of the time he had dreams of girls, either pornstars he’d watched or ex girlfriends he’d slept with. He had dreamt of filthy nights, tangled up naked in bed with these women, where the pleasure levels were so intense, it left Dean gasping for more.

 

The dream he had, wasn’t _nothing_ like that.

 

Without thinking, he slowly found his hand reaching down to lightly grip his cock, gently rubbing up and down. With every stroke, he moved quicker as waves of pleasure hit him. In his mind he was thinking about a night he had with a girl about a year ago, about all the things they had done to each other, things that Dean had never repeated with anyone else, _ever_ again. Soon he was pumping up and down his length rapidly, a layer of pre come pooling at the tip. The water was hitting his back hard and knew he was going to reach his peak soon.

 

Slowly, the images in his mind changed. No longer was he kissing the beautiful blonde girl from the bar, but rather was he making out with a beautiful blue eyed angel. His thoughts were only fixating on Cas, on his body, on his lips and on his eyes. Dean imagined kissing him, the both of them lying on a bed, with the angel practically riding him. He imagined the look on Cas’ face when he would come, a pure look of ecstasy. It was with that, that Dean came over the edge, his breath hitching as he rode his orgasm out.

 

As soon as he got over the high and his erection had disappeared, was when the cold dread filled his stomach again. He realised what he had done… he had just gotten himself off, thinking of Cas. Castiel the angel, Castiel the _male_. His chest tightened and he rushed to get out of the shower, before the steam and water suffocated him. He wrapped a towel around himself and rushed back into the motel room, attempting to breathe. He was never interested in guys, never even had the thought. Of course, he could admire when men were aesthetically pleasing because he had met a fair lot of men that were good looking. But that didn’t mean he was gay, the thought had never even crossed his mind.

 

It also didn’t resolve the fact that Cas was an angel. Dean knew that Cas was nowhere near a bad guy, and wasn’t a monster even in the slightest.  Yet, he knew his dad wouldn’t think that. His dad was like Randall and Thomas; a monster was a monster, nothing more, nothing less. What would his dad think of him loving a monster? What would everyone think? He would be shunned from the hunter community, faster than it would take for him to headshot a shapeshifter.

 

He laid back on his bed, running his hands over his face, having no idea what the hell he was going to do.

 

*   *   *

 

That night, Dean didn’t sleep. He knew if he slept, then he would face Cas and after the events of that morning, he couldn’t. He stayed up watching late night television and drinking crap coffee from the local gas station. He almost fell asleep at five am, but was able to stay up long enough to head over to the diner, and get a good cup of coffee to keep him up for the day.

 

Hunting however, turned out to be a bust that day as Dean was too tired to cope. He ended up retiring to the motel early that evening, attempting to stay up again, begging his sleep deprived mind to not give into the dreamland.

 

Unfortunately, his mind won that battle and before he knew it, he was out like a light.

 

 

Cas was waiting for him, as per usual.

 

They were at the lake again, the angel sitting on the end of the dock. Dean stood on the other end, reminding himself to breathe. With a small push of inner motivation, he made his way down the path of wood, so that he could meet the angel on the end.

 

“Hi Cas.” Dean greeted, sitting down next to him.

 

“Hello Dean. You didn’t sleep last night.”

 

Dean sighed, “Yeah no I didn’t, I had a lot of work to do for this case I’m working on.”

 

“Dean.” Cas stated firmly, turning to look at him. “I’m inside _your_ dream, which is inside _your_ mind. You cannot lie to me.”

 

Dean turned away, a blush creeping to his cheeks. Shame filled him from his very core, and he closed his eyes in an attempt to pretend that the angel wasn’t there.

 

“Dean.” Cas repeated in a huff. “Can you please… look at me?”

 

After a moment’s hesitation, slowly Dean turned his head and opened his eyes, staring into the soft blue eyes of his friend. Castiel showcased what was now dubbed his ‘Dean’ smile.

 

“First of all, I’d like to state that I don’t have a gender.”

 

Dean looked over at Cas in confusion. Castiel just chuckled quietly.

 

“Angels, we are made genderless. Our grace, our celestial forms, are defined to no gender. Over the years, the vessels we choose can either be female or male. It doesn’t make a difference to us.

 

“As an angel, when I first meet humans, I don’t notice their genders, only their souls.” He explained, must to the surprise of Dean. “Humans, your souls are truly the essence of who you are. Like my grace with I, your souls are what define you as human. When I first saw your soul, I was so confused. I knew you were companions of the hunters, yet your soul was so bright, so inviting, that it confused me as to how you would associate with them. Though like I have mentioned before, your kindness was what made me realise that you were indeed who your soul portrayed you to be. I began to fall into your soul and become enveloped by it. It was so warm, so beautiful, so _kind_. It wasn’t corrupted, it wasn’t dark, it was light, the light in the darkness that I was constantly surrounded by. From day one, I never saw you as just a handsome looking man, I saw you as so much more. It’s why I would love nothing more than to kiss you in this moment.”

 

Dean hadn’t expected Cas to be so forward, so direct about what he wanted. Dean was still frightened, still worried about the consequences of what would happen from this moment onwards. Though the longer he stared at Cas, the easier it became for those thoughts to disappear. In this moment, he knew he wanted nothing more, nothing more than to be with Cas.

 

Cas took Dean’s quietness as acceptance and gently reached forward to cup Dean’s cheek. He stared at Dean, a silent question in his eye. Dean nodded, his eyes wide and eager. That was all it took for the angel to swoop in, tenderly connecting his lips with Dean’s.

He wouldn’t describe this moment like they did in books. Like how they describe it as fireworks or a big bang. No, he wouldn’t describe it as that at all. Dean could only describe the kiss as it being right. The kiss was perfect, because he was kissing someone that he was falling for, someone who accepted him for his flaws inside and out. Kissing Castiel was a moment of euphoria, where you reach a peak in your life and you never want to come back down.

He wouldn’t describe it as lightning, or as if a bomb had gone off inside of him. He would describe it as the feeling of being home, the feeling of belonging.

It was a feeling he never wanted to end.

 

  

*   *  * 

 

 

Over the next week, not much changed between the two of them, much to Dean’s surprise.

 

The dreams occurred the same as always, every night and for the most part, their conversations were the same. Sometimes they didn’t even talk, just sat in silence, enjoying other’s company. There wasn’t any intimacy, but there was a bond, or what Castiel called a _‘profound bond’_ during one of their many conversations. They were comfortable being in the presence of each other.This was still new and foreign and _frightening_ to him. When he was with Cas, most of the bad thoughts went away and he felt safe and secure. Whenever he woke up, when Cas was no longer with him, the feelings of doubt and dread would bundle themselves into knots in his stomach. The thoughts and opinions of his dad and the other hunters would swirl in his head and he’d feel stressed and distracted as he attempted to ignore them.

 

He had travelled to Denver, Colorado after hunting and kill the djinn back in Illinois. He found himself looking through the lore, trying to figure out this monster, but finding himself too riled up to do so. His brain couldn’t function properly, with all these thoughts overwhelming him and consuming him. The dilemma was, he was absolutely, positively sure, he was falling for Cas. They’d barely known each other, and yet, Dean knew practically all there was to know about him. Of course, he didn’t know too much about the angel’s past, considering he’d lived for over a millennium. Though he knew the important facts about Castiel, he knew the details that made Cas, _Cas_. He was falling for him, in a way that Dean had never fallen for anyone before. He’d had past girlfriends and flings, but nothing to this extent. Cas was like the missing piece to his puzzle of a life and now that he was in it, Dean felt complete.

 

Yet, Dean was afraid of all that. He was afraid of how comfortable he felt with Cas, he was afraid of the emotions that would overwhelm him when he thought of him. He was afraid of his dad’s opinion, afraid of what would happen if his dad found out about it all. He wondered whether Thomas or Randall had mentioned anything to him, about their hunt together. He guessed not, considering his dad hadn’t mentioned anything, but it didn’t help make the dread go away.

 

All of his concerns were making him unable to do his job, and he knew he needed to talk to someone. Talk to someone who preferably wasn’t Cas. So, he called the first person that came to mind.

 

“Hello?” The voice on the other line spoke. It was much deeper than when Dean had last heard it, and it made his heart clench a little.

 

“Heya Sammy.” Dean greeted, trying to make his own voice calm and collected. He heard a breath hitch on the other line and the sound of shuffling.

 

“Dean?” Sam asked. “Why are you calling me?”

 

“What? Can’t a guy call his brother for a chat?” Dean questioned, forcing a small chuckle.

 

Sam huffed over the line. “Not when they haven’t called in eleven months.”

 

Dean winched at the clipped tone his brother used. Of course, he deserved it. He had rarely spoken to Sam since he had left for college. Their father hadn’t taken his youngest son’s departure well, and had told Sam to not come back. Dean was left with an angry father and an estranged brother for the most part of those months, until recently when his dad decided to hunt alone.

 

“Just wanted to see how you were doing… how college is going and everything.”

 

Sam sighed. “Dean… I don’t have time for games right now…”

 

“Sam, I’m serious.” Dean replied, his voice firm. “Tell me about college. I want to know everything. What’s Stanford like? What about Pre-Law? Have you met any babes there?”

 

Sam was silent for a few moments and Dean was honestly worried that his brother would hang up on him. Yet instead, he relented and began to tell Dean about everything he missed. He talked about the campus, the classes he went to, his friends. He talked a lot about a girl called Jessica, who Dean deemed that Sam had a crush on. Sam talked to him for a while, Dean listening as attentively as he could. Truth was, he tuned out a bit to what Sam was saying, instead just finding comfort from hearing his brother’s voice. He’d missed the kid, but he would never admit that to anyone.

 

“Okay, so now will you tell me what’s going on?” Sam asked, causing Dean to become alert again.

 

“What do you mean? Nothing is going on.”

 

Sam laughed. “Dean, you just did what you always do. You sit and listen to me talk my head off, in an attempt to make sure I am in a good mood, so you can ask me something. So now that you have heard me ramble on about my politics class, tell me, what’s going on?”

 

Sammy had always been too observant for his own good. It annoyed the crap out of Dean and their dad, but it made Sam one hell of a hunter. Dean contemplated telling Sam about Cas, about Randall and Thomas, about everything that had been happening. How dad had gone hunting the demon that killed their mom, how he was afraid his dad would hate him after he discovered what his eldest son had been doing the past few weeks.

 

Yet instead of telling Sam all of that, he just asked him one simple question.

 

“Do you think all monsters are evil?”

 

Sam’s reply was instantaneous, his brother barely taking anytime to contemplate what Dean had said.

 

“No, no I don’t.”

 

Dean didn’t say much more to Sam after that, not wanting his brother to interrogate him. They said their goodbyes, with Dean promising to call more, before the both of them hung up the phone. Sam’s words stayed in Dean’s mind though that day as he continued to hunt for the case, the words providing some sort of protection from the other thoughts. The more he contemplated Sam’s words, the more he realised that his fear was overrated. He was happy with Cas, happier than he had been in a long time. It didn’t matter that he was a monster, or what was deemed to be a ‘monster’. Cas was also kind and considerate and nowhere near evil. He wasn’t human, and Dean was in love with him.

 

It made Dean excited to sleep, because he couldn’t wait to tell Castiel all of this. That night, when he found the angel in his dream, he practically bounded over to him, the words bubbling on the tip of his tongue.

 

“Cas!” He greeted excitedly, meeting the angel over at the bench. The dream scenery always changed, today, they were at a park in Lawrence, where Dean had spent a lot of his early years playing in.

 

“Hello, Dean.” Cas greeted, beaming over at him as he walked over.

 

Dean flopped down next to Cas, turning to face him with a grin.

 

“Cas, buddy, I have something I really need to tell you…”

 

But before Dean could even get the beginning words out, Cas suddenly jolted still, his face freezing in pure terror. Dean’s heart jolted and he leant over immediately, clutching onto Cas’ shoulders.

 

“Cas? What’s wrong? Cas talk to me?”

 

Instead of speaking, the angel just let out a large cry of pain before suddenly disappearing into thin air.

 

“Cas? _Cas?!_ ” Dean yelled out, standing out and beginning to search his surroundings, trying to find any sign of his friend. As he continued looking, the world slowly began to fade to black, before Dean was abruptly taken away, waking up back in his motel room, in a cold sweat. He was breathing heavily, the fear and terror from the situation running through him.

 

He looked around the room, hoping that somehow Cas was there. But the room was empty, dark and quiet, just how Dean had left it. There was no sign of Cas and there was no sign to know if he was okay. Dean laid back down in the bed, attempting to sleep again and trying to ignore how his lungs felt as if they were filled with ice.

 

 

*   *   *

 

Cas didn’t return.

 

Dean finished the hunt in Denver, killing a pair of vampires that had been living on the outskirts of the town. He then travelled to Phoenix, Arizona on the hunt for a Rugaru. It had been a week and yet, Cas never appeared in his dreams. Instead of beautiful scenery from his memories and Cas’s smile filling his dreams, he instead witnessed the dark place in his mind. Nightmares from his past came to haunt him, memories that he always tried to avoid. He woke up in cold sweat a couple of times, shivering and panting as he tried to wash away what he had just seen in his head.

 

Needless to say, Dean didn’t sleep well.

 

It didn’t change even after the Rugaru and when Dean had moved onto Boise, Idaho on the suspicion of a possible haunted house. It had almost been two weeks and yet Cas was still gone and Dean couldn’t contact him no matter how hard he tried. He tried contacting his father, to see if he had any idea of where Randall and Thomas were. Though his dad wasn’t replying.

 

The haunted house turns out to be some kids playing a prank and Dean ends up finding himself in a dive bar. He drinks until he can barely walk and passes out on the floor of the motel room, thankful that his sleep was dreamless, instead of filled with hauntings of his own past.

 

 

 

 

Two days later, Dean finds himself residing in a motel in Salt Lake City after no attempts of finding a new case. After downing a couple of bottles of beer, he finds himself drifting into an alcohol induced sleep, hoping to have another dreamless sleep.

 

_“Dean!” “DEAN!”_

Something pierced through the darkness - a voice reverberating through his mind.The voice got louder and louder, repeating his name over and over until suddenly Dean could make it out. It was Cas. _Cas_ was calling for him. He was still in the dark though, everything around him pitch black. He couldn’t see Cas, even though he tried to. He even tried calling back but couldn’t form the words. It was just empty blackness, with the angel attempting to reach out to him.

 

Suddenly, an image flashed before his eyes. It was a gas ‘N’ sip, with four gas pumps out the front of it and a sign offering two for one on bags of pretzels. The image changed quickly, to a road sign that said _“ROSWELL – 10 miles”_. That image faded pretty quickly only to be replaced by a cabin, a rotting cabin that seemed to be the middle of some empty woodland.

 

Dean heard a cry for his name one more time before he awoke with a gasp, realising he was in the motel room and that it had all been a dream.

 

The sign for Roswell appeared in Dean’s mind and he was quick to grab his map out of his duffle. He found it quite quickly, seeing that Roswell was in New Mexico which was about a 13-hour drive from there. He looked at the time to see that it was five am in the morning. Quickly he packed up his things and returned the keys to the front desk of the motel, making sure to stop and grab a crappy instant coffee from the machine. It was going to be a long drive and he knew he needed all the caffeine he could get to survive it.

 

He jumped back into the car, pulling out of the parking lot and heading south towards New Mexico.

 

“Don’t worry Cas, I’m coming for you.”

 

 

After many stops for coffee and a gas refill, Dean finally neared Roswell around 6:30pm. It was closer to 7 by the time he reached the sign, the same sign that Cas had sent a mental snapshot of. Dean had no idea where Cas was in Roswell, since it’s quite a big place. However, seeing that there was an exit straight after the sign, Dean took a chance and we down it. He drove down the exit road for a bit, praying that he had gotten Cas’ clues right. He felt a small feeling of relief when he saw a sign saying that there was a gas station to the right.

 

Sure enough, the gas ‘N’ sip from his mind appeared before him, bright and big as it loomed over the empty road. He pulled in and settled at one of the gas tanks, topping up the Impala despite having only just getting gas not that long ago. He then headed inside and grabbed a bag of chips and a map, hoping that the map would help him locate where this cabin in the woods was. He then went over and placed the items on the counter, nodding in greeting to the cashier. He gazed quickly out the window, admiring the trees and bushland the surrounded the place.

 

“Nice reserve you got around here. Seems a little weird to place a gas station in the middle of it. You get many customers in this neck of the woods?”

 

The cashier, who looked like he was in his late teens, shrugged as he scanned through his items.

 

“In hunting season we do. You find hunters all around here during that time.”

 

“Hunters, huh? I hunt a bit myself. What is there to hunt around here? Despite aliens of course.”

 

The teen chuckled as he grabbed Dean’s card.

 

“Deer mostly. Nothing too exciting in Roswell. Most people just come here to try spot an alien or a UFO. My pop’s hoping to try get a few more people to hunt more though. He wants to rebuild this abandoned cabin that’s a few miles into the reserve. Wants to make it a good hunting place for him and his buddies.”

 

The word abandoned cabin made Dean freeze. He didn’t know how many abandoned cabins there were around but surely there couldn’t be too many.

 

“Abandoned cabin, huh?” Dean asked trying to keep his voice collected.

 

“Yeah, it’s like straight off this main road. There’s this tree wrapped in metal wire a couple of miles down and the cabin is straight off there. It’s pretty wicked, it’s been around since before I was born. My friends and I used to sneak in there and try and see what stuff we could collect. Right before it got rat infested.”  


 

Dean’s heart sank at the thought of Castiel being kept in that place. The teen passed him back his card which he grabbed hastily, along with his things. He forced a smile at the cashier before bolting out the door and to his car. He raced out of the gas ‘N’ sip and down the road, looking through the darkness of the evening to try and spot the tree. After a couple of minutes, it came up on the right and Dean was quick to pull over onto the side of the road. He grabbed his duffle bag, fishing out his flashlight. He switched it on as he shut the front door, beginning to walk down into the reserve away from the main road.

 

The cashier was right when he said the cabin was straight off there. Dean had barely walked for a minute before spotting the cabin from behind some trees. The closer he got, the more he realised that the cabin was exactly like the one he’d seen in his mind. The one with only a partial roof, with a hole right in front of the front door. Dean looked around to see that the hunters’ truck wasn’t there. However, he wasn’t going to go in with blind faith. Instead, he decided to find an entry he could sneak in through.

 

He walked around the side of the cabin, away from the front door. The first two windows were shattered in places but not enough that he would be able to get through them. The third window wasn’t but had a giant web covering it with a spider perched on it. The spider was about the size of Dean’s hand and _no way_ was he messing with it. He got around to the back of the cabin and noticed the back entry. He knew there was a high possibility it was a trap, but it was the best chance he had of entering. He quietly pulled his gun out of his back pocket and leant up against the wall next to the door. He gently reached over and slowly turned the doorknob before swinging the door open.

 

He walked in holding his gun out in front of him. His right hand held the gun whilst his left hand held the flashlight. He walked down the hall, flashing to the two small rooms either side and trying to see if anything was waiting to jump out at him. Apart from a few cockroaches and what he was sure was a rat, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He walked through to the next room and shone his flashlight, jumping as the beam landed on a figure in the distance. Instantaneously, he noticed that figure was Cas on the floor, his upper body slumped against the front wall of the cabin. His position was very similar to the times Dean saw him during the darkling hunt, crouched against the wall with his collar and chain. However this time, Cas looked the worst Dean had ever seen him. His shirt was no longer on his body and instead, his bare torso was out in the open with plenty of cuts scattered all over it. The blood from the cuts oozed all over his body, from his face down to his pants. There was a bloody pool lying next to him.

 

Dean immediately raced over, grabbing Cas’ face in his hands.

 

“Cas!” He cried, causing the angel to wearily look up at Dean. A small, lethargic smile rested on Cas’s lips. It was him attempting to smile at Dean, that same smile that he reserved just for the hunter.

 

“You got my message,” Cas gasped out, “I was hoping you would.”

 

“I came as quickly as I could… I’m so, so sorry.”

 

Cas shook his head, muttering ‘it’s okay’ over and over. Dean looked down at the collar and examined it. He could see that there was a keyhole on the side of it which Dean guessed was how you removed the collar. For Cas to fully escape from their grasp, Dean would need to find the key. He got up from the floor and looked around the room, trying to find the keys.

 

“Cas… is there anywhere in this room that you think the keys might be for your collar?” He asked.

 

“There’s a box somewhere over in the corner there,” Cas groaned, “it’s warded against me. I’d assume that’s where the keys are.”

 

He walked over to that area and began searching, searching through piles of papers and other rubbish to see where the box was hiding. Eventually, he shifted a manila folder to see a small silver box beneath it. He reached over to get it, only to hear a cry of ‘Dean!’ before a blinding pain in his head.

 

He toppled over onto the ground, only to be lifted up from his collar. His gaze centred on the eyes of Thomas, who was leering at Dean with wrath in his eyes.

 

“Think you could outsmart us, eh boy?” Thomas growled before pushing Dean back with all his force, causing the younger man to clatter onto the ground. He hit the ground hard but before he could do anything, Thomas was on top of him throwing punches left, right and centre. Dean could feel the blood pull in his mouth and the feeling of his eye beginning to swell.

 

He could feel himself slipping from consciousness the more he got hit. He could hear Cas’ groans and cries in pain and felt so hopeless that he couldn’t do anything to help him. He felt Thomas grip his shirt and reach in so that he could whisper in his ear.

 

“We know all about Castiel’s little night time visits to you Dean.” Thomas sneered. “He told us all about his little adventures, after a little persuasion of course. Of course we expected he’d find a way to get you here.  Get his lover to come and save his useless ass. But of course he didn’t expect us to be here, hiding in the shadows. We knew you’d be coming Dean, it was only a matter of time.”

 

He banged Dean’s head against the floor before yanking him up, holding him in a head lock and facing him towards Castiel. The angel looked worse than before, as if he was just a dead man walking. Randall was holding a long silver blade to the angel’s chest, a slimy grin on his face.

 

“Glad you’re here to see the show Dean-o!” Randall said with a slimy grin on his face “Do you like where we’ve chosen to reside? Roswell, home to aliens. Aliens, just like your boyfriend over here, hey? I wonder what the townsfolk will think when they find his dead body. Oh the speculation over it… that will be fascinating to watch on the news. Especially when they see your body there too. Oh that will be fantastic! Of course your face and body is going to be unrecognisable by the time we’re done with you. Couldn’t have your daddy coming after us, now could we?”

 

“You sadistic bastard!” Dean spat through his blood soaked mouth. Randall’s grin just grew.

 

“Just trying to eradicate the world of one monster at a time Dean. First it’s lover boy here, then you. We never really wanted to kill you Dean but if you’re gonna sleep with a monster, I guess it makes you one by default.”

 

Thomas held Dean close as Randall lifted the blade back, ready to pierce it through Castiel’s heart. Dean struggled immensely, looking at the terrified look that was on Cas’s face. Though he couldn’t break free, Thomas was too strong and Dean was too weak. He watched as if it was in slow motion as the blade swung through the air towards Cas’ chest, ready to kill him almost instantly.

 

Though before it could happen, the ground began to shake. Violent tremors that made them all lose their balance. Randall stumbled back from Cas, whereas Thomas kept his footing, still clutching onto Dean. Dean looked over at Castiel, to see him staring back, his blue orbs shining like lasers. His body was radiating with light in a way that made Dean look away. He squinted, to see Castiel flick his hand and suddenly, Thomas no longer had a grip on him and was tumbling back onto the wall behind them. Dean turned to face Cas who was staring right at him.

 

“Run Dean!” He demanded, his voice deep with a full display of power. He began to get brighter, a large shadow appearing behind him. Dean realised they were his _wings,_ broken and only looking like a frail skeleton, yet still glorious in size. He wanted to stay and look at them but instead followed Cas’s words and ran out of the house. The moment he stepped out of the back door, a massive storm of light and energy blasted through the house, shattering all the windows and blasting Dean forward. He fell to the ground, holding his arms over his head to protect himself. He stayed like that for a full minute, just until he was sure the coast was clear. When no more light came flooding through, he lethargically stood up and made his way back inside.

 

He felt the crunch of the glass beneath his feet and the creak of the wood. The house was silent… too silent. He walked through the dark rooms back into the living room, bracing himself to be attacked again. Instead, he witnessed a completely different unsuspecting sight.

 

Thomas was who he first saw, dead on the ground in front of him with his eyes burnt out of his skull.  Dean took a second to adjust to the sight, his breath hitching and the bile in his stomach pooling uncomfortably. Though he pushed past it and hesitantly found himself walking around the dead hunter, further into the living room. Then he saw Randall, in the same position as Thomas.

 

Dean didn’t get to bask in the relief for long as he then noticed Cas just a couple of feet from him. The angel was completely healed up, the blood and cuts that once covered him having disappeared. He was still shirtless though and instead of standing or sitting, he was crumbled onto the floor. Dean rushed over to him, gently rolling him over to examine him. It was there that he noticed the collar once around the angel’s neck was gone.

 

Dean looked around the room and noticed it had fallen right next to Randall. However, it wasn’t the same collar anymore and rather a crumpled piece of gold with the sigils burnt off. Cas had somehow freed himself, he was no longer tied to the collar. Dean reached over and tried shaking Cas awake, with not much luck. The angel was fully unconscious. With fear sitting in his chest, he reached two fingers over and held them to Castiel’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Fortunately, he could feel one. It was faint but it was there. Cas was alive, even if it were just barely.

 

The next few hours was a blur. Somehow he made it back to the car, carrying Cas in his arms. Dean guessed it was the adrenaline rush because he couldn’t explain in any other way how he was able to carry a dead weight Cas all the way back to the Impala. He hazily remembered getting in and driving down the street, turning down random roads until they were safely away from the cabin.

 

The last thing he remembers is pulling the Impala onto the side of the road, before fading from consciousness.

 

*   *   * 

 

He awoke to a dark room.

 

In every story he’d read, they describe waking up in hospital as waking up to bright lights. For Dean, he awoke to a dark room with minimal sound. He felt the thirst in his throat and the blinding pain in his head. He groaned, struggling to open his eyes and look around the room.

 

“Dean?” A familiar voice murmured. Dean felt his breath hitch and the feeling of a warm hand holding his own. With a bit of determination, he was able to open his eyes and look over at his bedside, where Cas was sitting.

 

The angel gave him his special smile, leaning a little closer.

 

“Hello Dean.” He greeted, causing Dean to chuckle.

 

“Hi Cas. I’m glad to see you are alright.” Dean said.

 

“I’m glad to see you are too. You gave us quite a scare.”

 

“I did, did I?” Dean asked, in which Cas pursed his lips.

 

“Yes. When I woke up, we were both in the Impala and you were out cold. I tried to wake you, only to discover you were barely breathing. I was able to get an ambulance in time… apparently if I had waited a little longer, they would have been unsuccessful in reviving you.”

 

He saw Castiel’s face crumble at his own words so Dean squeezed his hand in reassurance.

 

“I’m okay, I promise Cas. How long was I out?”

 

“One day, ten hours and twenty four minutes.” Castiel replied. “You were in an induced coma for about thirty hours. They only took you out of it 11 hours ago because you were able to breathe on your own. Apparently you have no internal injuries… neither any brain bleeds, which I guess makes you very lucky.”

 

“I bet that was all you, Cas.” Dean chuckled, causing Cas to furrow his eyebrows in confusion.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean I bet you were the one that healed me up, right? Now that you don’t have the collar and have your mojo back. I bet that bandage is just for decoration.”

 

Dean was indicating to the bandage that Cas had wrapped around his other wrist.

 

Cas smiled sadly, shaking his head.

 

“Unfortunately no. Your healing is pure luck, or maybe on the angels taking pity on us for whatever reason. I don’t have any grace anymore Dean, I used the last of it to smite Randall and Thomas.”

 

Dean’s eyes widened, “So that means...?”

 

“That I am human.” Cas said.

 

Dean took a few moments to process Cas’s words, a feeling of guilt swirling in his chest.

 

“I’m… I’m so sorry Cas. You… you lost your grace so you could save me… to save us.”

 

“Yes, I did.” Castiel stated. “And I would do it again all over if I had to.”

 

“But you don’t have your grace anymore? Cas, that has been a part of you for… for… how old are you?”

 

“Approximately 438 million years old, though there is no way for me to truly know.” Castiel declared and Dean could feel himself losing his mind at that number.

 

“Jesus Christ” He muttered under his breath, before turning to face Castiel. “My point Cas, you’ve been an angel, had this grace for millions of years… and you lost it all because of me?”

 

“I didn’t lose it because of you Dean, I lost it for multiple reasons. My failure to be a good soldier and follow protocol, my own naivety that led me into the hands of those hunters. If anyone is to blame, it is myself and I take full responsibility for my actions. Besides, I no longer felt as if I was an angel anyway. My grace has been depleting for some time now and I’ve spent more of recent times as a human, than as an angel. Despite what happened with those hunters, I prefer humanity in every shape and form. In some ways, this is a blessing in disguise.”

 

Dean stayed silent, gently rubbing his thumb over Cas’ hand.

 

“So what now?” He asked after a while, looking over at Cas to await his answer.

 

Cas shrugged, “I don’t have any idea of where I will go from here. However, I’d like to stay with you, if that is alright with you?”

 

Dean grinned, leaning back in the bed as he began to get sleepy again. Before he drifted back off into unconsciousness, he met Cas’ gaze with his own.

 

“Yeah Cas, that is definitely alright with me.”

 


	5. Epilogue

The next two years of Dean and Castiel’s life was filled with many first experiences.

 

 

The first of these experiences, being Castiel’s new journey now living as a human. With his grace gone, Cas no longer had the abilities he had once had his whole lifespan. He now had a body that needed food, water and warmth. That needed love and companionship. That needed support and shelter. It was overwhelming to the ex-angel and for the most part, he struggled to comprehend it.

 

Dean was discharged from the hospital the day after he woke up, and by ‘discharged’, Dean bolted. He changed into his blood soaked clothes and dashed right out the door, before anyone could stop him. They found their way back to the Impala, abandoned on the side of the road a couple of miles away. It was a miracle that nothing had been stolen.

 

Dean knew they needed to go somewhere that wasn’t just another crappy motel. Cas had spent most of his time on Earth in motel rooms, trapped and incarcerated by two monsters disguised as men. Dean knew they needed to be somewhere safe so he went to the only place he could think of.

 

The drive was long. Dean stopped multiple times to rest, considering how exhausted his body now was. It had barely recovered from the night before and Dean was pushing it that much further. Cas was practically mute the entire car ride, despite Dean’s attempts to get him to talk. He looked exhausted and smaller than Dean had ever seen him. He stayed curled up in the passenger seat the entire time, drifting in and out of sleep.

 

Almost sixteen hours later, Dean drove the Impala through an arch gateway, the metal letters spelling ‘Singer’s Auto Salvage’. He drove up to the house where he was greeted by Bobby Singer, or ‘Uncle Bobby’ as Dean would call him as a kid. The hunter had been a friend of his dad’s, before a fight had ensued between them and Bobby had threatened John Winchester with a shotgun, thus ending their friendship. Dean had been unsure about whether Bobby would do the same to him, yet instead, he was welcomed with open arms.

 

Cas’ new human life begun in the comfort of Bobby’s termite eaten, mould infested home. Dean and Cas shared the spare room which was a small dusty room situated with two twin beds, from all the times Dean and Sam had stayed there. For the first few days, they both rested, exhaustion weighing down on them like a ton of rocks. Dean was still recovering from his injuries, whereas Cas was still trying to get accustomed to what life was like being human. Where there was this innate need to sleep and to rest. Cas felt tired all the time but at the same time, restless. Dean had caught him up a few times in the night, just wandering the halls or pacing on the carpet.

 

Dean hadn’t realised that this would bring a whole new first into his life. The first time dealing with trauma.

 

He wasn’t good at dealing with trauma himself. When his mother died, he had repressed it, pretended it had never happened. When he began to hunt monsters and the nightmares occurred, he’d sleep on the floor of the bathroom so that he wouldn’t ruin the motel sheets. When Sam left for Stanford, he’d buried himself in booze and turned himself into the splitting image of his own father. He dealt with trauma in his own way, but it didn’t mean it was necessarily healthy, nor would it be able to help Cas.

 

After a week of staying at Bobby’s, the older hunter had pointed out how quiet Cas was. It was true that the former angel had been silent. He’d barely spoken to Dean; let alone the gentleman he did not know. He ate his food, drank water, slept, showered and used the bathroom. However, he was a shell of a person. It was like watching a robot going through pre-programmed motions. It reminded Dean of what angels are like. Soldiers, mindless followers of God. He knew Cas wasn’t like that; he’d never been like that the entire time Dean knew him. Yet, it wasn’t undeniable that something was off with Cas and that he was reverting into someone that scared Dean.

 

He at first refused to talk about it, instead spent his time curled up in the spare room or walking silently through the scrapyard. Dean had tried multiple times to prompt Cas, to get him to talk, yet the other man refused every time. It made Dean realise, watching how broken Cas was, that he had never been through the same trauma that Cas had. He’d grown up with a broken childhood full of nightmares, _sure_ , but nothing in comparison to the torture the other man had experienced on a daily basis.

 

The nightmares were frequent. Dean woke up multiples night in a row to Cas’ groans and small yells in agony. Dean would always be there to grip Cas on the shoulder and wake him up, holding him steady as he calmed down from his bad dreams. He’d always offer to sit and talk it through with Cas, or to get him a glass of water. The other man always refused though, just telling Dean to go back to bed. Dean felt useless, almost as if he had no power whatsoever to help Cas. He had saved the former angel; he had taken him away from his abusers. However, he had only done that physically; mentally… Cas was still living his horrors.

 

It was only three weeks into living at Bobby’s did things change. They had slowly been settling down, getting into a makeshift routine. Dean helped Bobby in the salvage yard and spent his time repairing and rebuilding cars that had been abandoned or wrecked savagely. Not hunting was something he struggled with, so he found it better when he was occupied with something. Plus, he enjoyed cars and the mechanics behind them. In another life, he probably would have loved to have his own auto shop.

 

Cas kept busy by reading and cooking. Turns out Cas was a pretty excellent chef, especially when he relied on Bobby’s old cooking books. He too kept busy in his own way. He wasn’t fond of cars in the same way Dean was, nor was the ex-angel ready to hunt again. So he spent a lot of time reading the books that cluttered Bobby’s study and prepared food several times a day. Although it wasn’t easy and nowhere near how Cas and Dean thought they would be spending their lives, it was comfortable.

 

One night, almost a month into their stay, Dean awoke again to the cries of his roommate. He looked over wearily at Cas, the man tossing and turning in his sleep. He flicked on their bedside lamp and tiredly made his way over to the other’s bed, placing his hand on Cas’ shoulder to shake him awake. When he awoke, eyes wide with his lips pale and parted, he didn’t push away Dean like he usually did. Instead, his eyes watered and he reached up to grip on tightly to Dean’s wrist.

 

‘Stay’, he had pleaded and Dean wasn’t one to hesitate. The two of them had manoeuvred and somehow, they both fit in the tiny single bed. Cas rested his head against Dean’s chest and the hunter tried to ignore the wetness that seeped through his shirt. Instead he held the man tightly to his body and told him that he was safe, that everything was going to be alright.

 

It was a hard and restless night for the both of them, yet at the same time it was progress.

 

*   *   *

 

Cas healed in bits and pieces, like a puzzle that was taking months to put together. Dean had been worried about overstaying at Bobby’s, yet the hunter hadn’t seemed to mind. Castiel cooked and did the washing, Dean helped with the business side of things. The both of them were also available to research lore, for whenever Bobby would receive a call from a hunter in need. Bobby rarely went hunting himself, but there were a few times he left to kill a local monster. Dean and Castiel never tagged along. As much as Dean sometimes had the urge to hunt, the urge to stay with Cas was stronger.

 

Cas had begun writing in journals, a technique suggested by Dean. Bobby had a lot of empty journals laying around over the place, so one-day Dean had stolen one and given it to Castiel.

 

_“Try this,” He said, “You never know it may help.”_

It did, slowly. The more Castiel wrote in the diary, the less tense he seemed to be. He began to talk more, began to sleep more. He had nightmares less and wasn’t alone as often. He came out to talk to Bobby more, or spent some nights talking to Dean. Obviously whatever he wrote in that diary was something dark for the ex-angel. It was the history of his trauma, the events that had shaken him to his very core. Dean knew that writing them in a diary helped because it was like actually telling someone, _without_ actually having to tell them.

 

Yet despite Cas’ healing, they never stopped sharing a bed. Dean thought it would be uncomfortable, sharing a small bed with another grown man for weeks on end. However, it was surprisingly comfortable. Wrapped up in the warmth of Cas and feeling the man beside him every night, grounded him in a way he’d never felt before. He went to sleep with feelings of bliss and cordiality filling his mind.

 

Though of course Cas being there wasn’t always going to keep his nightmares at rest. His first nightmare occurred three and a half months after the incident. It was as if it were a reminder that repressing trauma doesn’t last forever. Dean had done his best to keep his own demons at bay and focus on Cas. Cas had been getting better and was now content and settled in his new lifestyle, which meant that Dean no longer had to worry about him as much as he had previously. It left his own previous experiences to bubble to the surface and the negative feelings and memories to begin to take control.

 

His nightmare featured Cas. He dreamt they were back at the cabin, where Thomas had Dean in a death inducing headlock whilst Randall beat, slapped and kicked Cas to a pulp. Instead of Cas fighting through and smiting them like he had done in reality, this time, Cas remained on the ground. Dean tried to call for Cas, to tell him to get up. Yet he couldn’t because his windpipe was being crushed. He was suffocating and trying his best to reach for Cas, trying his hardest to get to the angel but everything was slowly draining away. He heard Randall’s cackling and his taunting words as his life slowly began to fade away.

 

He awoke to a shout, which turned out to be Cas trying to wake him up. He was panting, his throat parched and his heart beating like a drum. He turned to face Cas, who he could just make out in the glow of the moonlight. He was staring at Dean with concern, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes wide. Dean felt a burst of relief seeing the other man in front of him and instead of whispering words of reassurance and going back to sleep, Dean lurched forward to connect their lips. He felt Cas gasp on his lips in surprise but it wasn’t long before the other man melted into it. The kiss was short and tender, but it brought the same feelings their first kiss had. When they both pulled away, Dean rested his forehead against Cas’, holding the man tightly.

 

“Don’t leave me Cas. Stay by my side, please.” Dean had murmured through a cracked voice.

 

“I’m right here Dean.” Cas replied, pulling Dean closer to his body.

 

*   *   *

 

One of the biggest firsts Cas and Dean experienced was their relationship. After all they had been through, it wasn’t a surprise that their relationship would be one to blossom quickly. Five months after the incident, Dean took Cas out on his first date. It was nothing fancy, just dinner at a diner in Sioux Falls and a walk around the local park. However, Cas had been so overjoyed, wandering around the park. The ex-angel definitely took a whole new literal meaning to the saying ‘stopping to smell the roses’. The night ended with Dean leaning in and kissing Cas out the front of Bobby’s house. Castiel had chuckled and had looked up at Dean with a soft sparkle in his eyes. Dean knew in that moment that Cas was his home and that no matter what happened between them, he was never going to leave him.

 

That moment was what he reminded himself of when they had their first fight. It was seven months after the incident when Castiel had told Dean that he wanted to hunt. Dean had downright refused, which had sparked a heated argument between them. It had ended by Dean storming off out the front door, ready to jump in the Impala and head to a local dive bar. Though as soon as he got to the car, he stopped and closed his eyes. The memory of their first date played in his head, the feeling of belonging and comfort swirling in his stomach. He was mad but he wasn’t going to leave Cas.

 

So instead he went out into the salvage yard and wandered around kicking things and moping to himself for half an hour. After having some time to cool off, Cas came out to join him. Castiel leant against the side of a car, adjacent to Dean. The both of them were silent for a moment, until Cas decided to speak up.

 

“You’re mad because you are afraid.” Cas stated, “You are afraid that if I go back on the road, stay in motels, hunt monsters that it will bring up unwanted feelings for me. That I will revert back into who I was just after Roswell. You aren’t mad… you are scared.”

 

Cas stared at Dean awaiting his response. Dean just huffed out a small laugh.

 

“Damn right Cas I’m scared,” Dean said, “I remember it so clearly sometimes. And when I dream about it. I don’t think about what actually happened. I dream of you _dying_ Cas. I dream of seeing you dead as I slowly die myself. It scares me okay? I… I don’t want to lose you. I _can’t_ lose you.”

 

Cas walked forward and buried himself into Dean’s chest, wrapping his arms tightly around the hunter.

 

“I’m right here Dean.”

 

It was Cas’ gentle reminder to Dean, every time he got afraid about Cas leaving. Just like Dean made that promise to himself months ago, Cas had made that same promise to Dean. They both weren’t going to leave the other, no matter what happened. Of course, sometimes circumstances were unpredictable, they never knew what force could come their way and attempt to tear them down. However, they knew that the both of them had the determination to stay with the other and that was enough for now.

 

 

 

Christmas came around shortly after their fight. Dean and Cas decided not to begin hunting until the New Year, so they spent their December in the chilly climate of Sioux Falls. Sam was staying to have Christmas with Jessica’s family, the girl who recently became his girlfriend. However, he had been talking more to Dean and had even had a small conversation with Cas. He never mentioned Cas’ past to Sam but he knew he didn’t have to. Not only was Sam away from their life, he wasn’t one to pry too much.

 

Christmas was a small affair considering Dean and Bobby had never really celebrated in it and Cas didn’t believe in the celebration in the slightest. Dean had still gotten a present for Cas though, one that was sourced through the help of some contacts of Bobby’s. Dean would never forget Cas’ face as he opened the large manilla folder to reveal the documents inside. Cas had beamed as he’d read through the official looking birth certificate, where the name ‘Castiel James Winchester’ was printed at the top.

 

New Year’s Eve was spent introducing Cas to alcohol and watching the snowfall as they rang the new year in. Dean knew that this was most likely Castiel’s hundredth millionth new year and wasn’t expecting it to be anything special to the ex-angel. They spent the night in front of the fire, having moved the furniture around so they could place the couch in front of the fireplace. Bobby had retired to bed whereas Dean and Cas huddled next to each other, the two of them reading as the hours went by. Cas was reading a lore book, muttering about the small inaccuracies wherever he found them. Dean was reading _Cat’s Cradle_ for the fourth time, still enjoying the book despite knowing the storyline inside out.

 

When the clock struck midnight and the year of ’03 rolled into ’04, Dean leant over and gave an unsuspecting Cas, a soft kiss.

 

“Happy New Year, babe” He whispered, to which the other man had smiled in response.

 

Castiel later confided in Dean that the new year of 2004 was his favourite of the millions he had already experienced.

 

 

 *   *   *

 

 

**ONE YEAR LATER**

**May 2005**

“Dean, could you slow down for one second?” Cas snapped as Dean sped around the motel room.

 

“No Cas! We gotta go!” Dean growled, quickly throwing their clothes into their various duffle bags. Cas sighed and walked over to Dean, grabbing him forcefully by the shoulders and holding him still.

 

“Dean, _explain_.”

 

Dean struggled for a moment, before looking into his boyfriend’s determined gaze and relenting.

 

“Dad hasn’t replied to my texts or calls. It’s been a few days Cas, he always gives me an update, no matter how busy he is. Something is wrong.”

 

“Okay… but where are we rushing to? Do you know where your dad is?”

 

“I have an idea of where,” Dean said, “but first, we gotta go get Sammy.”

 

“Sam?” Cas asked confused, “why Sam? He doesn’t hunt anymore Dean. At the moment he is applying for law school.”

 

“Because I need him,” Dean whispered, “and that is nothing against you Cas. I need you too but… he’s my brother. This is _our_ father. Dad has been hunting this demon for a while now and I’m worried that it may have now got him. And if it has… I need Sam.”

 

Dean had hoped Cas wouldn’t mind, considering his boyfriend had no love for John Winchester whatsoever. Dean’s father hadn’t taken Dean being bisexual well, especially since he knew who Cas was. It wasn’t hard to guess, considering Dean had already mentioned Castiel’s name to John back when Cas was an angel and then after the death of the two hunters, his father was able to connect the dots pretty quickly. Dean was practically but estranged from his father now, apart from the regular texts. No matter how furious they were at each other, they were still family and neither wanted to see the other dead.

 

Cas was silent for a moment before letting go of Dean and sending him a reassuring smile.

 

“I understand,” Cas said, “you go load the car and check the trunk, I’ll pack up the rest in here.”

 

Dean left the motel room and chucked one of the duffle bags in the backseat. He then went into the trunk and begun to sort out the weaponry. After five minutes, Cas came out with the rest of the things, loading them into the backseat as well. He then wandered over to Dean, taking a quick look at the trunk before staring at Dean.

 

“Ready?” He asked.

 

“Ready.” Dean replied, shutting the trunk lid.

 

“We’ve got work to do.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again for reading! Hope you enjoyed!
> 
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